


Adopting the Enemy

by Glau (Glaucus_Atlanticus)



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ganondorf gets reluctantly dragged into becoming a better person, Gen, Minor Character Death, Mute Link (Legend of Zelda), POV Character of Color, Redemption, Sign Language, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 80,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26049073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glaucus_Atlanticus/pseuds/Glau
Summary: When Ganondorf discovers Link has reincarnated once more, he takes the opportunity to kidnap his foe and raise him as an enemy of Hyrule. He never thought a small child could give him so much trouble.He certainly never thought he'd like the kid.But Hyrule isn't the weak kingdom he remembers, and Link has a mind of his own. If Ganondorf can't stop history from repeating, he'll be fighting not just a war, but a son.
Comments: 497
Kudos: 692





	1. Pawn

**Author's Note:**

> This setting is closest to Breath of the Wild, but will have some differences, most notably the absence of a calamity or guardians.
> 
> See end of the work for content warnings.

The last thing Ganondorf saw was the Master Sword hurtling down upon him, and a flash of golden hair.

The abyss slammed into him like a rampaging lynel, ripping at skin no longer there, boring into the hole left in his chest by the sword. None of him was there anymore, not in this void where time and space meant nothing. He should have been a soul, held together by magic and the Triforce of Power, intangible and invulnerable, but the wound screamed where steel had met flesh, a scalding, sucking burn while the rest of him dissolved into nonexistence.

He flung his remaining magic outward, scrabbling for purchase in an infinite sea of black, but it trickled out into eternity, while the wound drained it down to the last drop. If he had a body, he would have run, limped, crawled, anything to get away from the pain. He would have thrown his eyes about for an escape—and he had escaped, many times before. He would have screamed, cajoled, even begged like a dog. But the Sheikah had refined their prison well, and nothing mental, magical or physical could lift him from the void or give respite for his torment.

The abyss was as cold as the Risoka Snowfield in the depths of winter, but devoid of earth, wind or stars. There was no light, and nothing worth seeing. No life, and nothing to live for. Only the Triforce of Power and his vow of vengeance kept him from dissolving into nothingness as well.

The first time the so-called Hero had sent him here, he’d been shocked. The second time, he’d been enraged. Six hundred years later, the rage still burned, but burned at himself as much as at the Hero. No matter how carefully Ganondorf crafted his work, he never held Hyrule long enough to right its wrongs before the Hero returned to damn him once more. Sometimes, the Hero was a young man. Sometimes he was merely a child. Ganondorf had thrown him into fire, floods, storms, earthquakes, volcanoes. He’d taken the boy’s loved ones hostage. He’d even offered to reward him, and give the Hero a life of idleness and wealth. Nothing worked.

Once, he managed to kill the boy. But the Hero returned in a few years, with a different body but the same eyes, and hurled Ganondorf back into the pit. Those brief years of progress became but a blip in time compared to the eons of nothingness afterward.

Eventually, the fire in what used to be his chest overtook him, and he collapsed uselessly into the void. Perhaps he stayed like that for hours, or perhaps for centuries. Time didn’t matter here. All there was, was Ganondorf, the Triforce of Power, and the wound.

It was the first time he’d been left truly helpless. The Sheikah had crafted his cage impeccably. On the minuscule chance that he _did_ escape, the Hero grew stronger with every incarnation. Their last confrontation had barely lasted a minute before the boy tore decades of Ganondorf’s work apart, and left him in unending, magic-draining agony. The prospect of wasting another lifetime like that ached almost as much as the wound itself.

As his last dregs of hope were dying, the far edge of the darkness cracked.

At first, it was almost unnoticeable. He’d drifted in darkness so long he’d almost forgotten what light looked like. But it _was_ light, a faint and fragile thread, flitting in and out of existence. If he shoved the burning pain aside, and concentrated, he could hear the faint whisper of voices. Someone was trying to break the seal.

 _One more chance_.

One more lifetime to take the Triforce, and do unto Hyrule what should have been done millennia ago. One more lifetime to throw the Hero aside, if Ganondorf could discover how. But he had to. Without it, there was no point to existence.

_One more chance, or you will never have justice for what was done to your people._

More thin strands of light crept across the colorless not-sky of the abyss. He watched, hungrily, at the only sign of change in this infinite void. The cracks trickled down, through the horizon and into the nothingness below, threads becoming streaks. At their center, he could hear the faint pulse of greed.

If he had a face, he would have smiled. No, he couldn’t escape this prison on his own. But he didn’t have to.

After all, Sheikah were as corruptible as anyone else.

The streaks clustered, snapped, and once more released Ganondorf into the world.

* * *

The first minutes of a new life were always the worst. Turning from a nothing into a something meant limbs growing from places they weren’t, eyes and teeth and organs all rearranging themselves into a semblance of order, bones creaking and cracking and shaping themselves into something stable, all wrapped up in a bag of flesh.

There was a reason why he stayed Gerudo-shaped whenever possible. Getting out of that form, and back into it, was almost never worthwhile. It would be easier to remain a formless mass of protoplasm and hatred, but formless protoplasm didn’t have very good eyesight, so he conjured a few organs to get his bearings.

He emerged into the same temple where the Hero had sealed him away last time, though it was hardly recognizable. The stained-glass windows were shattered and dulled to grey, and red smears covered every surface that wasn’t blanketed by dust and grime. Bodies of soldiers lay in pieces across cracked tile floors. The air hung thick with the tang of blood, bile, and...fruit? It was probably better not to ask about that.

“Behold!” shouted a mortal, gesturing to Ganondorf. “Our ritual has worked, and the King of Evil has returned!”

The masked cultists fell to their knees. Cults were tedious, but useful at times. What were they called again? The Yogurts?

“Oh Lord of Darkness, we gather to serve you, to bring down Hyrule and restore you to your rightful...”

A summoning circle was inscribed across the floor. The holy sigils that locked Ganondorf away had been smashed, leaving the altar as mere rubble. Crude, but effective.

“...But we, the Yiga, remain loyal, and will further the demise of Princess Zelda and the Hero of...”

Ganondorf would have sighed if he had lungs. Every minute this windbag wasted was one minute closer to Ganondorf’s patience running out. He surveyed the room for hints of what else happened while he was sealed away, and found it mostly the same. Apart from the corpses and the vandalism everywhere. Cultists had no appreciation for the arts.

“..We ask that you share with us one iota of your power, so we...”

That was the main problem with cultists. They wanted to think they mattered. As if the king who conquered Hyrule dozens of times with his own might and magic might need them. This group was particularly arrogant. They’d drawn containment sigils around the summoning circle, as if to keep him in. Even now, with a sliver of his power recovered, that meant nothing to him. It would be insulting if it weren’t so laughable.

Not that it mattered. His magic was slowly returning, and Hylians had no place in his plans.

His gaze landed upon the leader again. Annoying and foolish. The Hero would crush him in minutes, and the fool would probably reveal half Ganondorf’s plans in the process.

The Yiga leader looked at him expectantly.

Ganondorf drew the first threads of a fireball to himself, stirred up a spark—and a stabbing pain nearly ripped his gaseous form apart. Only his lack of lungs kept him from gasping for breath.

The Master Sword hadn’t been so powerful before. The Sheikah must have enchanted it. An enchantment that could rip not just through bodies, but souls, and leave a hole in his chest that ached across two different dimensions and however-many years.

“...My lord? Um, Lord Ganondorf?”

He’d let the Yogurts live for now. With a mental wince, he unfurled into a cloud of smoke, and hobbled past them, or the gaseous equivalent of hobbling. First order of business: find a safe place to heal.

Outside, he flew into the daytime sky, and dispersed his smoke thin enough to be invisible. High up, he stopped, got his bearings, and looked down.

And found a landscape shattered into barren craters.

What had the Hyruleans been _doing_ while he was gone?

In his last life, this had been Akkala, the bread-basket of Hyrule and point of contact with Labrynna. Now, the cities had vanished, and the spiderweb of trails was replaced with wide concrete roads, connecting the Eastern Sea to a colossal stone fortress in the mountains. It looked like a war zone, but the fortress flew the colors of the Hylians _and_ the Zora, and its cannons were pointed toward the ocean, not the Zorana mountains.

How much time had passed?

He flew past the fortress, over the volcanoes of Eldin, which were now dotted with mines and tunnel networks. He flew over the Great Forest—or what remained of it. Most of it had burnt to the ground, and a vast stone wall and guard towers separated its northern border from Holodrum. The ashen fields extended into Holodrum, forests replaced by military camps in the Calatian style. On both sides of the wall, more concrete roads crisscrossed the plains and mountains, so the Hyruleans could deploy a large army on short notice.

As he surveyed the landscape, the wound dulled from a stabbing agony to a heavy throb. He could resume his Gerudo form soon, since it required no magic to maintain, but anything more was impossible. He’d have to find a place to recuperate that _hadn’t_ become unrecognizable from his memories, and beyond the Hylian military’s reach. Tabantha, perhaps? The frozen northwest was virtually—

Something flew _through_ him.

“Gah!” the creature squawked, shaking its head.

It looked like a huge violet bird, roughly Zora-sized, but its face was twisted in un-birdlike disgust, and it wore a backpack and scarf.

“Daruk,” the creature muttered, “if you’ve been holding tests out here again, we will have words.”

It veered off toward Eldin, and Ganondorf stared after it. He’d heard of birds that could talk, but he’d never known one to _complain._ It had come from the direction of Tabantha.

On closer inspection, Tabantha’s airspace was teeming with the strange bird-creatures, unbothered by the chilly mountains and tundra. Their towns were few, but they’d fit neatly into the last unsettled part of Hyrule. There went _that_ option for Ganondorf’s new hideout.

He drifted south to the central Hyrule Plain, passing over the capital along the way. The city had grown enormously, and a new set of stone walls encircled it. A cool sensation tugged at his cloudy form, resonating with his Triforce of Power, like a serene lake far below. Zelda. The princess. The _other_ incorrigible thorn in his side. She would be easy to find, but well-guarded, and he needed years to regain the power to confront her.

Further along, the immense Hylia River’s path had been reshaped. Barges and ferries sailed up and down constantly, all the way to Lake Hylia where a fleet of galleons choked the water. The Zora should never have allowed that. Yet there they were, Zora and Hylian flags side by side on the masts, sailors of every kind scurrying up and down the docks. Zora, Hylians, Gorons, Gerudo; even those strange bird-people carried supplies and packages to and fro.

He mentally scowled. If the Zora and Hylians had made peace, he’d have fewer potential allies to recruit, and Hyrule would have the warriors, resources and water-ways of Zorana to fight him all the harder. If the bird-people got involved, it’d be disastrous: he’d barely raise a legion before bombs rained down from the sky.

In the south, the forests of Faron had shrunk, half-cleared for logging and agriculture. But as he flew over them, he nearly missed another faint tug. It felt like wind and grass this time. Small, almost invisible, but with an irrepressible energy just below the surface. After so many lifetimes, it was a familiar feeling, and a loathsome one.

The Hero had been reborn. Ganondorf had only a few short years before the child grew up and confronted him once more. A few short years until Ganondorf’s chance at vengeance was snuffed out for good. A few short years, and the Hero would hit stronger than ever.

Ganondorf could not afford to let him.

He honed in on the sensation, gathered what remained of his magic, and dove into the trees. He followed the airy sensation through the forest, to a thatched cottage on the edge of the trees. It was an unremarkable, peasant-looking homestead, with cows and cuccos wandering about, and a plot of vegetables in the yard. He stalked toward the door, but sensed no people inside. The airy feeling lay further afield, in a copse of trees. There, he found a Hylian woman bending down to retrieve mushrooms, and a man with a toddler balanced in his arms. Their skin was a soft, woody brown, and their clothes a dull beige. Ganondorf would not have wasted his time on these commoners, if not for the breath of Farore he sensed around them.

As a cloud, he stalked toward them, massive and black. They didn’t notice until he was nearly upon them, and he amused himself with a growl. The couple’s heads snapped up, and the woman shrieked, dropping her bag of mushrooms and backing away. The man gasped and fumbled the boy in his arms. Ganondorf loomed over them, considering whether to go for the boy first, or the parents.

The man threw his child to the ground.

“Aljin!” the woman shouted. “What are you doing?”

“Saving our lives!” He grabbed her hand and dragged her away.

“But the boy—”

“Give it an easy target, and it won’t follow us!”

She looked over her shoulder, then fled with him toward the cottage. Their child was left on the ground, whimpering. He managed to right himself, and started to run, only to stop when he saw his parents far ahead. Ganondorf couldn’t see his face, but the slump in the child’s shoulders, and uncommon lack of tears, told him enough.

Toddlers would cry at anything, unless they had learned no one would respond.

Ganondorf’s smoke sparked in disgust.

He assumed his Gerudo shape, wincing as bones, muscles and clothing snapped into place. The wound wrenched hard in his materializing chest, and the mark of the Triforce burned itself into his hand. Perhaps these were merely the aches of a new body. Or, more likely, they worsened with proximity to his murderer.

The child’s ears pricked at the sound of bones cracking and re-forming, and he jolted towards Ganondorf, eyes wide, but stayed where he was. A distant sound came from the cottage door slamming shut.

The boy was small, perhaps two or three, and had darker skin than his last life, though not as dark as Ganondorf’s. His hair was now deep brown, but the eyes were the same royal blue as always.

He whined for a second, then went quiet. It was more like a cry of shock than a toddler’s wail. But then, the Hero was always reserved; perhaps it started at a young age.

Ganondorf snapped his fingers, testing how much fire he could summon without evoking another wave of pain. Very little. If he wanted to kill the boy, he’d have to get his hands dirty: strangling, neck-snapping, blunt force to the head. His lip wrinkled. It was far easier to end a life from a distance, or when that life was charging at you with a sword.

The child was studying him, looking almost more curious than afraid. Apparently, the lack of self-preservation instincts had carried over to this life, too.

It would be trivial to kill him on the spot. Ganondorf had done it before, in the eras he found the Hero too young or unprepared. Not that the effect lasted. At most, it would buy him a few years until the boy’s next incarnation came to return the violent favor. And in the meantime, Ganondorf would hold only a third of the Triforce, two-thirds if he had the princess. He’d have to confront the boy again anyway.

In previous eras, it had been infuriating. Now, with Sheikah magic outmatching his own, a mistake could cost him the full Triforce for eternity.

“Come here,” he said.

The boy frowned, and backed up half a step.

Ganondorf lunged and grabbed the boy’s wrist, eliciting a small yelp from him, and turned it over in his hand. The boy wriggled and pulled, but Ganondorf saw enough. On the back of the boy’s left hand lay a raised outline of a triangle, just like the Triforce mark on Ganondorf’s skin.

So, the goddesses had marked the boy already. Two years old and his life was decided for him, unless Ganondorf snuffed it out.

The boy stopped struggling, and glared up at him with the same silent determination as his last life. It was significantly less fearsome coming from a toddler. Ganondorf regarded him, and thought.

He could kill the boy, but perhaps he didn’t need to.

He knew where the boy was. The parents would not come looking if the boy failed to return. But if _Ganondorf_ kept track of the child, he’d know when the boy became a threat, and what form that threat would take. Perhaps he could even influence the boy not to pose a threat at all.

The Hero wouldn’t get reincarnated if Ganondorf kept him alive.

It sounded absurd: the king of evil, taking care of his most hated enemy? Pathetic. But then again, to think of conquering Hyrule, of the Hylians praying desperately for their Hero to rescue them, only for that Hero to see their suffering and turn away...To take the goddesses’ champion, and not merely stop him, but twist him into something that went against everything they stood for…

Ganondorf couldn’t imagine a more delightful revenge. He grinned, lifted the child in his arms, and rose up into the Hyrulean sky.

The boy bit him.

“ _Son of a sand-viper—!”_


	2. Nuisance

The boy struggled for the first few minutes in the air, oblivious to the fact that a terrible death awaited if Ganondorf let him fall. Nope, no self-preservation instincts here. It wasn’t until Ganondorf dangled him upside down that the boy gave up and let himself be carried.

So, apart from needing a place to heal in peace, Ganondorf now needed a place to keep the boy. Ideally, said place would be large enough to eventually support armies of monsters, and isolated enough to not worry about being spotted by civilians or overrun by the Hylian military.

The biggest problem was those blasted bird-people. Now that he knew what they looked like, they were everywhere, from the mountains of Tabantha to the coast of Faron. All it took was one nosy (beaky?) bird-person flying overhead, and Ganondorf’s minions would be the talk of Hyrule. And with the new road network spanning the country, the Hylians would storm in before he could prepare a defense.

So, where wouldn’t those overgrown turkeys fly? Failing that, was there at least a place the Hylian forces couldn’t easily reach?

A vision of broken ladders and scratched-out murals appeared in his mind, and Ganondorf swore. He hadn’t returned to that gods-forsaken place since his first life. After nine hundred years, it might not exist anymore, and that may be for the best. But it was the only idea left. So he kept low and away from the trade routes to avoid notice, and flew west to the Gerudo Desert.

Or rather, what used to be a desert.

A vast array of pipes, trenches and aqueducts covered the highlands, siphoning snow-melt from the peaks and channeling it into the desert basin. The channels branched into a thousand tributaries feeding farms larger than he’d ever seen. Saltgrass, hydromelon, peppers, voltfruit, tubers. His old clan would have killed for land and food like that, but the Gerudo farmers tending the toil weren’t even armed.

Farther west, the channels fed into cities—actual _cities._ Gerudo Town rivaled the Hylian capital in size, and mixed-gender suburbs had grown on its outskirts. Its walls were too short to repel an invasion, and the cities further along the Gerudo-Hyrule trade route had no walls at all.

Ganondorf sneered. These were once the proudest warriors in the world, but their lifestyle spoke only of complacency now.

Not all the desert had been cultivated. Most of it remained barren, and the towns of Palu and Toruma had been abandoned, presumably due to their oases drying up. Ganondorf could use this. He turned southeast, toward the foothills of the eastern mountains.

As they flew, the child remained silent. Most small children would have been wailing for their parents. This one merely glared.

Ganondorf frowned. He could think of a few reasons why a kidnapped toddler wouldn’t weep for its mother. None of them were good.

As they approached the cliffs, his frown deepened, and the broken ladder flashed again through his mind. He shook his head to clear it, and drifted past canyons and plateaus, until deep in the mountain-folds he found a cavern in the rocky escarpment: Fort Ular. Or at least, what remained of it.

He landed in what had once been Fort Ular’s plaza, and set the child down. The boy promptly scurried off between piles of rubble. But no matter. Ganondorf could find him again through the Triforce mark if necessary.

Despite being sheltered from wind and rain, the sandstone houses had largely collapsed, leaving a maze of walls, stairs, rock-piles and pits. The ladders and other wood had long crumbled away. Centuries of decay stripped the paint from the sandstone bricks, and turned the murals into faint smears on the cliff walls.

It could have been worse. He’d half expected to see the corpses of his mothers’ people lying there, struck down by Hylian swords and bows.

A tumble of rocks echoed deep in the ruins, probably from that Hylian child pawing at things that weren’t his. Ganondorf’s lip wrinkled, and he strode back to the cavern entrance before his temper could boil over.

Beyond the horizon lay an oasis and village, close enough in case he needed supplies or information, but far enough to avoid notice. There was no easy access to water yet. But he had enough power to summon it for now, and later, he could redirect the snow-melt channels from the mountain above.

Hopefully, no one would come here. But just in case, Ganondorf needed to make sure they didn’t discover the boy’s true nature. He retrieved the boy from where he’d been poking around a fire-pit, and with a wince, cast a glamour over them both to hide the Triforce marks on their hands.

The boy poked at his wrist curiously. At least he wasn’t running anymore.

Once more of Ganondorf’s magic had recovered, he’d change the boy’s hair and eyes to better pass as his son. For now, this would have to do.

The next problem was that Ganondorf had neither the interest nor ability to raise a child. Not a Hylian child, and especially not a Hylian child that had repeatedly murdered him. But there were ways to keep a child alive that didn’t impose on his time.

With the last trickle of his power, and a hard clench of his fist, three gangly, pig-snouted beasts materialized from the ground, honking and shaking themselves alert. He called them to attention, and they scrambled to stand up straight.

“Servants of the abyss, I have tasks for you.”

The bokoblins hooted and clapped their hands.

“Silence! You will remain silent until I dismiss you.”

They slumped and grimaced, but obeyed. It was hard to find decent help these days, even from the bowels of the underworld. Or wherever these ugly things came from.

“Which of you is least likely to eat a child when you get hungry?”

They looked at each other. One picked its nose. They gawked at him stupidly. He sighed, and pushed the boy forward.

“This is what you are not supposed to eat. It is a child. He is to grow up safe and unharmed. Can any of you go twenty-four hours without that knowledge falling out of your heads?”

A black bokoblin with large, floppy ears raised its hand.

“Come forward. Show me you can interact with the boy without either of you getting killed.”

Truth be told, he didn’t know how old the boy had to be before he could pose a threat. He probably couldn’t kill a bokoblin ten times his size at only two. But he _had_ managed to cut down swathes of them at nine, and this one wouldn’t be allowed to hit back.

The bokoblin ambled toward the boy, who withdrew, glaring once more. The creature chittered at him, and waved its knobby hands, but the boy didn’t relax.

It stepped forward again. The boy took another step back. The bokoblin lunged, only for the boy to roll out of the way. He broke into a run, and the bokoblin spent a good five minutes chasing him through the ruins before it cornered him in a pit. From afar, Ganondorf heard smashing noises and several terrible shrieks.

He was about to intervene when the bokoblin scrambled out. It had a lump on its head, a cut running down its side, and a fuming toddler in a headlock. But more importantly, the boy was uninjured.

Ganondorf’s eyebrows rose. Not bad.

A bokoblin probably couldn’t teach the boy things like “Don’t lick the ground,” “Don’t stick rocks up your nose,” or “Yes, you have to wear clothes.” But frankly, that was a bonus. Ideally, the boy would make it to adulthood without the least bit of sense in his head.

“That will do,” Ganondorf said. “This boy is the Hero destined to grow up to oppose us. _Your_ job is to see that he doesn’t.”

All three bokoblins froze, eyes baffled. The boy kicked the black bokoblin in the shin, and it winced.

“I have a plan,” Ganondorf continued, “that will see Hyrule finally brought to its knees. The Hero will grow up among us, and when time comes for my plans to come to fruition, he will stand at my side, not with the princess.”

The bokoblins stared at the child, warbling in hushed tones.

“You will see to it that he survives to adulthood, without realizing his destiny or his true nature. Do not torment him; that will give him a reason to turn on me later. Do not injure him; I want him to stay alive so he will not reincarnate elsewhere. If he is harmed, you will pay for it with your lives. Understand?”

The bokoblins shuddered, but bowed. The Hero in question took the chance to yank the black bokoblin’s ear, and the creature yelped.

Come to think of it, brain damage might help ensure the child wouldn’t grow up to oppose him. He could shake the boy back and forth until his brain was good and scrambled. Or perhaps feed him irregularly, so the boy would grow up small and slow-witted. Considering all the ways the Hero had outsmarted and outfought him in the past, it would be prudent.

The bokoblin grunted, shooing the child’s hand away from its ear. The child bit the bokoblin’s finger. The bokoblin squawked and jumped almost a foot in the air.

Despite himself, Ganondorf had to smirk. Perhaps he needn’t rattle the child just yet. After all, there would be opportunities to hobble him later.

“Now,” he addressed the bokoblins again, “while that one watches the child, one of you will set up the base. Clean the most intact house and furnish it with doors, beds, and rebuild any missing walls. The other will retrieve game and water for dinner. Understood?”

The bokoblins nodded, and one of them chirped. He dismissed them to start work, and gazed towards the dirty wall of the cliff. On the other side, he could imagine the rise of the Eastern Gerudo Mountains. Beyond them lay the Great Plateau, the Hyrule Plain, and ultimately, the capital and the princess.

This time, she wouldn’t be rescued.

This time, he’d regain his birthright, and do to Hyrule what he should have done long ago.

A high-pitched shriek pierced his ears. Behind him, the child had wriggled free, and his pig-nosed babysitter was clumsily chasing after him again. The boy darted ahead, and stopped next to Ganondorf, staring up at him with narrowed eyes. Eyes narrowed with annoyance, and perhaps curiosity, but not fear.

Ganondorf grinned, and lay a hand on the child’s head.

“That’s right. Hyrule will fall, and you’ll be beside me as it does.”

* * *

For the first few years, they coexisted by avoiding each other as much as possible. During the day, the boy wandered around outside, and at night, he stayed in his room. He stopped trying to escape when he realized there was no food or water outside of Fort Ular, and eventually grew bored of looking for things to break. He no longer fought or hid from the bokoblin. The bokoblin, in turn, proved competent enough to keep the boy fed, uninjured and out of Ganondorf’s way, which was all that mattered. The rest of Ganondorf’s minions pieced together a house for them, and gathered food, water and materials for building his future army.

To conquer a nation as large as Hyrule was no small feat. In some ways, the Triforce simplified matters. Whoever held it would have the ultimate power to realize their desires. They could make a wish, albeit only once, and overrule the gods themselves. It was an instant victory, if Ganondorf could achieve it.

_If._

The three pieces of the Triforce were a key spread across three people, and the Temple of Time in the Hylian Capital acted as the lock. All three had to be united in order for the full Triforce to appear. Ganondorf had the piece of Power. As long as he kept custody of the boy and won his loyalty, the piece of Courage would come easily as well.

So, to pass the child off as his own, he cast an illusion over them both. He turned the boy’s hair bright Gerudo red, and changed his eyes to amber. Their skin tones were close enough to not bother changing.

For himself, he reluctantly dropped his visible height to a less distinctive size, and modified his face in case someone had recorded an image of it from last time. But despite being a male Gerudo, he didn’t change his features any further. Nothing was worth denying his heritage.

Besides him and the boy, only the princess and her piece of Wisdom remained. Ganondorf needed her alive, but she would be closely guarded by her military and the Sheikah.

He pored over his map of Hyrule in the newly-furnished study, marking the changes since his last life three hundred years before. To capture her, he had to determine where the army was and what they were doing, as well as where she would try to flee when Ganondorf attacked. He circled the locations of strongholds he’d observed, while flying over—

A crash came from the cellar.

He closed his eyes and counted to ten. If only his magic could make the boy behave.

“Bokoblin,” he called, “is he harmed?”

The bokoblin responded with a wobbly squeak that wasn’t reassuring. Useless rat-monster.

He straightened up, set down his pen, and strode to the cellar, where he found the black bokoblin shaking and wringing its hands, the red bokoblin warbling miserably, and shards of broken pots all over the floor.

Two years ago, he’d volunteered for this. He must have been out of his mind.

At first, the child was nowhere to be seen. Not on the dirt floor, or under the peccary furs, or hiding behind the water-jars. Not peeking round the doorway or painting ochre on the walls. But it certainly wasn’t a bokoblin that had wrecked Ganondorf’s prehistoric Zonai vase.

The black bokoblin pointed upward, squawking like a woodpecker that had hit its head too many times. Ganondorf followed its gaze to find the boy wedged in a niche where part of the ceiling had collapsed. _How_ he got there, Ganondorf hadn’t the faintest idea. The boy was picking the leaves off dried safflina, apathetic to the destruction he’d caused, or to the fact that he was stuck.

Ganondorf scowled at the black bokoblin, which shrank away.

“I told you never to let him indoors during the day.”

The bokoblin threw up its hands, pointed to the boy, and flailed helplessly.

“Irrelevant. You had one task: keep the boy out of my way.”

The miserable creature whined, and Ganondorf was half inclined to smack it across the face. But it was hard to find minions gentle enough to not eat the boy on sight, and smart enough to keep him from setting Ganondorf’s bed on fire. This one needed what little brain-power it had.

“Red bokoblin, clean up the pottery. Black bokoblin, retrieve the boy. Then take him outside and keep him there.”

The bokoblins did as they were told, the red one pulling out a broom and dustpan. The black one shuffled toward the niche and reached up. It was nearly tall enough to reach in, but the boy scooted away.

Ganondorf crossed his arms. “Boy, get down here.”

The boy frowned, peering over the ledge, as if to judge the safety of a fall. Of course, his self-preservation instincts _would_ appear when it was least convenient.

“The bokoblin will grab you. Get down.”

The bokoblin held up its arms obligingly, trying to look as nonthreatening as a bipedal pig-rat demon could. The boy scowled and leaned away.

“For Din’s sake, boy, stop wasting time.”

The boy glared back in the fearless way only a four-year-old could. Ganondorf then realized he was arguing with said four-year-old. And losing.

“So be it. You shall stay there until you’ve learned your lesson.”

He strode out and returned to his study. But as he charted the marching routes from the capital to Fort Akkala, he couldn’t help but wonder about his strange ward.

The boy never smiled, and rarely made noise. It wasn’t a matter of fear. He held his ground, even if Ganondorf yelled. At most, the boy might look away and crack his knuckles, as if he found Ganondorf’s company tedious.

When the child did use his voice, it was never any kind of language, merely grunts, groans and the rare yelp. Ganondorf would have thought him deaf, but the boy’s ears pricked up for the skitter of insects, the murmur of wind over sand dunes, and sounds Ganondorf couldn’t hear at all.

He didn’t play. He ran and climbed, but never in games with the bokoblins. He explored Ular in a silent, methodical fashion, not chipper and excitable. Ganondorf barely recalled his own youth, but even he had been a more carefree child than the taciturn one in the cellar.

None of this was new. In all the lifetimes they faced off, the Hero had never smiled or spoken to him. After all, who would smile at the man who put their homeland in danger? Why waste time on words, when there was a battle to be fought? But now, the sullenness made converting the child to his side virtually impossible. Hopefully it was just the lingering resentment of being taken from his birth-parents, and not an inborn Ganondorf-murdering instinct.

In the cellar, the bokoblin made pitiful honks and warbles every few minutes, trying to cajole the boy from his spot. It hadn’t made any progress when Ganondorf returned a half hour later. Worse, the boy had somehow managed to steal the broom, and was sternly thwacking the bokoblin about like the world’s ugliest pinata.

It was impressive, honestly. He’d always been irritatingly good at filching things, but doing it while trapped inside of a ceiling-hole was new. Although Ganondorf should probably prevent him from giving the bokoblin brain damage.

“Listen to me, child.” He put on his most fearsome scowl. “You have tormented my minion long enough. Get down from there.”

The boy pulled the broom up and frowned at him.

“Don’t make me drag you down myself.”

The boy still didn’t budge.

“Fine, you foolish child.” Ganondorf magicked himself a couple feet higher in the air, and reached forward to pull the child down. Only for the broom to hit him in the face.

Maybe the boy _was_ instinctively driven to attack him.

“You have no idea,” he growled, “how lucky you are that I want you alive.”

The boy only cocked his head, face neutral. Ganondorf rubbed his forehead and glared.

This would be easier if he could simply terrorize the child into obedience. Some families were cruel that way, even to children of their own blood. But if he sank that low, it would make the child resent him. Knowing the Hero, that _would_ turn into a confrontation, and defeat the point of kidnapping him in the first place.

So, terror was out. Bluntly grabbing the child was out: he was too quick with that broom. But there were other ways to trap a fox. He pointed to a pewter jar on the shelf, snapped his fingers, and wings sprouted from its sides.

The boy froze, eyes huge with fascination as he watched the jar flit about the room. Ganondorf flicked it about like ringtail-bait, and smirked.

“You may stay up there if you like. But if you want to find out what that—”

The boy somersaulted off the ledge, eliciting a screech from the bokoblin and hurling the broom across the cellar. He landed clean on his feet, grabbed the enchanted jar, and scurried out the door.

Ganondorf and the bokoblin looked at each other. The bokoblin croaked.

“Well, what are you doing here? After him.”

The bokoblin blinked, saluted, and took off running.

Ganondorf groaned and closed his eyes. The little viper had been able to get down the whole time.

The sooner Ganondorf’s magic recovered, the sooner he could grab the Triforce, take revenge, and get rid of this brat. And oh, what a beautiful day that would be.


	3. Challenge

When not preparing for the conquest of Hyrule, Ganondorf spent time preparing himself. His body and magic were still recovering from being sealed away for so long, and the hole ached deep in his chest where the Master Sword had stabbed him. But he’d regain his strength in time, and faster if he retrained his skills.

For magic, there was only so much he could do. He could now summon more of his legions: the gangly hound-ape-like moblins, skeletal stalfos, reptilian lizalfos warriors. They alternated shifts between combat training and rebuilding Ular. With Ganondorf’s house finished, they’d begun cleaning and repairing other houses for themselves, repainting the sandstone, and draping tents as temporary walls and ceilings. The ruins were a mess, but they buzzed with the rhythm of construction, monster-calls, and the scent of cooking-pots.

The streets of Ular were too densely packed to practice combat, so Ganondorf selected a broad, flat area below, where the mountains opened up into desert. The monsters arranged a boulder-garden nearby for shade, with an underground chamber for weapon and armor storage. Every morning, after drilling the monsters in squad formations, Ganondorf practiced sparring with them one-on-one.

The boy and his bokoblin caretaker often climbed down to watch. Apart from ensuring they stayed far enough away not to get hurt, Ganondorf paid them no attention. They always wandered off afterward, presumably to do whatever five-year-olds found amusing.

After one such session, Ganondorf stretched and curled his fingers, the slight tingle of power coursing through them. It was stronger now, but lacked the speed or dexterity he needed for combat. His chest ached, but less sharply, and the angry hole had clotted into thick scar tissue.

He handed off his swords for a moblin to clean, and considered going invisible and flying off to the Kara Kara bazaar again. He’d found an instrument vendor last month who claimed to know of a pipe organ for sale in the capital. Work-life balance was important, after all, and there were few forms of entertainment in the desert.

Transporting an organ through the desert and all the way up a cliff would be...challenging. A different instrument would be more practical, but it would also be easier for the boy to break. Toddlers had a way of changing one’s priorities in home decor.

_Thwack!_

Speaking of breaking things...

Another _thwack_ resounded, followed by a moblin screech.

On the sparring field, the boy was going toe to toe with a moblin ten times his size, wooden swords in hand. He was also doing unnaturally _well,_ lunging, dodging and parrying with perfect form. His bokoblin and the other moblins watched in a circle.

This had to be stopped.

“Halt!”

The moblins froze, ears standing on end at his command. They spun toward him, and cowered under his glare. The boy looked to him as well, sword lowering toward the ground.

The boy was unhurt. If Ganondorf had any respect for gods, he would have thanked them. Instead, he snatched the sword from the boy, who let out a yelp.

Ganondorf studied the wooden sword. In his youth, it hadn’t been unusual for Gerudo girls to begin training for war at this age. And if this _were_ his child, he’d be delighted to revive the custom. But not even the Gerudo could handle a short sword properly at five years old. Children couldn’t throw their bodies into a lunge, or withstand the force of a parry. Except that this one had.

He couldn’t have learned it from Ganondorf’s underlings, who were all larger and shaped differently than he was. No, that skill must have come from a previous lifetime. A part of the child had _remembered._ If he could recall how to swing a sword, what else might that shake loose in his empty little head?

“Listen to me, boy.”

The moblins shrank back, but the boy merely blinked up at him.

“You will not touch the swords, spears, or any other weapons. You will not fight. It is foolish and dangerous, and you are unsuited for it.”

The boy’s face remained neutral, but his gaze dropped to the ground, and he began cracking his knuckles.

Ganondorf took a deep breath. He should have anticipated this. In previous lifetimes, the child started slaughtering those monsters as young as nine or ten, with no prior training.

The boy was still twitching his fingers, shoulders slumped, eyes intent on his hands. He was a child; children imitated what they saw. If anyone was to blame, it was the gods who’d damned them to a life of mortal enmity. In that respect, he and Ganondorf were alike.

Ganondorf lay a hand on the boy’s shoulder, and the boy glanced up.

“The truth is, you are...too important, for me to allow you to come to harm. I cannot allow you to study the art of combat. Not when I have a more important mission for you.”

The boy tilted his head, frowning.

“You enjoy running and climbing, do you not?”

For a long moment, the child studied him, before giving a nod.

“And you are constantly getting into places you should not.”

The boy returned his gaze steadily, unrepentant.

“I want you to cultivate those skills. To master the art of infiltration, both to repair gaps in my own security, and to exploit those of my enemies.”

The boy blinked and tilted his head. Ganondorf probably should have worded that in a way a child could understand.

“I want you to snoop around and find useful things.”

The boy frowned, brows knit as if looking for a catch. After a moment, he nodded again.

“Good.” Ganondorf turned to the bokoblin. “You will keep him away from the sparring ground. He is to practice stealth, burglary and reconnaissance in a variety of environments. You may conscript my other underlings to act as antagonists, to better refine his skills. Understood?”

The bokoblin saluted. Ganondorf turned away, and sighed. It really was hard to find good minions these days.

* * *

Key note, whole step, whole step, half…

Ganondorf closed his eyes, reacquainting himself with the organ keys. Three centuries of nothingness had dulled his skills, but they would return with practice. It had taken weeks to find a full-size pipe organ in good condition, and a mess of burglary, threats, and magical illusions to retrieve it. He even had to buy a townhouse in the capital to smuggle it past the customs officers. But the organ was here now, all three keyboards and pedals working.

His chest ached throughout the day, and he could only train so much before it became unbearable. So he practiced in the mornings. In the afternoon, he’d plot the acquisition of the Triforce and the conquest of Hyrule. The evening was time to relax, and the organ would do nicely.

He traced an octave higher, and one of the notes rang sour. So, it still needed tuning.

He turned to rise from the bench, and nearly jumped at the sight of the boy standing behind him. Nearly, because getting startled by a child would be undignified. Instead, he rose to his feet and glowered.

“If you must enter the drawing room, _try_ to announce your presence.”

The boy blinked up at him, seemingly unaffected, and glanced between Ganondorf and the organ. Ganondorf had visions of pipes twisted into knots and keys all over the floor.

“ _No,”_ he said, holding out a hand to block the boy from approaching. “I don’t care if you’re the Triforce of Courage made flesh. If you break this, you will die.”

The boy met his gaze evenly. He held up something brown and furry.

What the…

Was that a dead jackrabbit?

Ganondorf pinched the bridge of his nose. The command had been to “find useful things.” Of course the boy would interpret that in the most hostile way possible.

On the other hand, it _was_ the first time the boy had followed an order, albeit out of spite. If Ganondorf wanted him to become genuinely obedient, he needed to encourage behavior like this. He sighed, and patted the boy on the shoulder.

“It’s good,” he said. “You did a good job.”

It was high praise, coming from him. Any of his monsters would have fallen over themselves in hoots and cheers at those words. But the boy’s eyes merely widened, and his gaze dropped to the dead animal in his hands. He didn’t smile.

Ganondorf frowned. Children were supposed to soak up praise, weren’t they? Granted, most children weren’t living with someone who’d kidnapped them. Or with someone the gods had commanded them to kill. If Ganondorf couldn’t win this child’s affection, one day he might wake with a knife at his throat.

He kneeled down to eye-level with the boy, and lay a hand on his head.

“I said, you did a good job. I am...happy. With you.”

The boy met his eyes, still unsmiling, and shoved the jackrabbit in Ganondorf’s face. It reeked. Ganondorf suppressed a repulsed shudder, but took it, and tried to smile.

“Thank you.”

The boy made a sweeping gesture with his palm up. Then he reached up and patted _Ganondorf_ on the head, nodded, and turned and walked away. Leaving Ganondorf kneeling on the floor with a half-rotten rabbit in his hand.

He grimaced, and lay the creature on the organ bench. This would probably be the start of many more dead things being brought into his house. Also, he needed stronger locks on the doors if he wanted to keep the boy from messing with the organ—or stabbing him in his sleep.

* * *

Ganondorf was practicing a sonata when a live crab was dumped onto his lap.

“Gah!”

He jumped up from the bench, leaving the crab flailing on the floor. He spun around and found the boy standing next to him, watching Ganondorf curiously.

“How did you get in? This room is strictly off-limits.”

The boy shrugged. He looked towards the hapless crab, then to Ganondorf.

“You are not supposed to be in here,” Ganondorf said, and strode over toward the door. Somehow, the deadbolt had come undone. Next time, Ganondorf was installing a barricade lock too heavy for a child to move.

He picked up the crab between his forefinger and thumb, and held it away from himself, like a twitchy piece of rubbish.

“How did you find this? We’re in a desert.”

The boy pointed towards the door.

“Outside?”

A nod.

“ _Where_ outside? _How?”_

The boy held up his hands and rubbed his fingers together, which looked vaguely like the gesture people used for money.

“Don’t tell me you bought it. You have no money. There is no one out here to buy a crab _from.”_

Something in the boy’s face closed off, and his hands dropped to his sides. His gaze drifted down to the floor.

Ganondorf grimaced. This would be easier if the boy would just talk. But yelling at the child wouldn’t make things any better, so he sighed, and rubbed his temple.

“Thank you for the crab,” he said, feeling faintly ridiculous.

The only response was another shrug. The boy didn’t look up. Ganondorf leaned down and awkwardly patted the boy’s shoulder, and handed the crab back.

“Why don’t you share this with the bokoblins? They’d probably like to eat it.”

They’d eat anything, as far as he could tell.

The boy frowned, and held the crab close to his chest, looking troubled. Perhaps he meant to keep it as a pet? The sea creature wouldn’t last long out here, but…

“Or you can keep it,” Ganondorf said. “But don’t expect it to live long.”

The boy gave another irritating shrug, and turned to leave. Ganondorf let him.

* * *

The crab didn’t last long, but at least next time Ganondorf spotted the femur before it fell on him.

“Din’s sake,” he muttered. “It’s taller than you are. I’m genuinely impressed.”

The boy didn’t smile, but his expression softened, and he held the bone out.

Ganondorf took it, and immediately regretted that decision. It was a real femur. It also still had a tendon hanging off it.

“When I said I liked organs,” Ganondorf muttered, “this is _not_ what I meant. We’re cleaning this before you track dead minion all over my house.”

He took the bone to the kitchen, the boy following after. The black bokoblin rejoined them.

“You there.” Ganondorf pointed to it. “Clean the bone. Show the boy how to do so as well.”

The bokoblin dutifully did so. Once the viscera had been wiped off everyone and everything, he handed the bone back to his ward. The boy hefted it up and staggered towards his room. Ganondorf, curious despite himself, went to look.

One month ago, he’d caught the boy sparring and told him to collect things instead. Since then he hadn’t bothered visiting the boy’s room, since the bokoblin attended the boy as much as needed. He assumed that if there weren’t any crashes, or explosions, or vile odors, then it was probably fine.

That was a mistake.

In just one month, the boy had covered his room with a wide variety of...things. Owl pellets. Rattlesnake skins. Moblin teeth. Bokoblin claws, lizalfos guts, giant centipedes, stalfos skulls…

Now, Ganondorf preferred a Baroque-Industrial style for his quarters, but he could appreciate a well-planned morbid aesthetic. He’d designed a few bone chandeliers and torture chambers in his time. The boy’s room was not an aesthetic. This was a disorganized, unsanitary mess.

“This is disgusting,” he declared. “Bokoblin, clean it up.”

The bokoblin started picking up junk, but the boy shoved the creature away and glared at Ganondorf.

Ganondorf raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you want to keep this garbage.”

The boy nodded, hands on his hips like he wasn’t staring down the mortal enemy of Hyrule. Great. The child had grown attached to dead creatures instead of living ones. It would have been charmingly un-heroic, if the boy hadn’t kept bringing the damn things _into the house._

The boy might be trying to spite him. Or maybe he’d left the boy with bokoblins for too long. They weren’t terribly civilized creatures.

He could throw the dead things out. But if the boy were attached to them, doing so could damage what little loyalty the boy had for him. Ganondorf needed a way to maintain the boy’s trust, yet _not_ make his house a pit of rot and miasma.

“New rule,” he said. “Every thing you bring into this house, you will show me first. Is that understood?”

The boy’s shoulders relaxed, and he nodded.

“Show it to me, and I’ll determine if it needs...containment. Or cleaning.”

He pointed at the raw, disgusting lizalfos guts. The boy jerked up and lay a hand over them.

“Calm down. We’re taking it to the kitchen. Bokoblin, retrieve a transparent airtight jar, a paper and pen.”

The bokoblin did so, and in ten minutes the guts had been washed, pickled and capped. Ganondorf had learned the practice as a boy, to keep hydromelons edible over long droughts in the desert. Now, his ward and the bokoblin watched, fascinated, as he labeled the jar’s contents.

“If you’re going to bring putrid things into the house,” he said, “we will store them _safely_ , is that clear?”

When he handed the jar back, the boy ran his fingers over the label reverently, before looking up at Ganondorf with wide eyes. Then he ducked his head, and scurried back to his room. He returned holding the femur, and gestured toward the pen.

“Really?” Ganondorf said, amused despite himself. “Very well.”

They spent the whole afternoon cleaning, tagging, containing and labeling one hundred and fifty-nine plants, rocks, animal parts and monster parts the boy had accrued. While much of the work was repulsive, some was not, and the boy even started trying to jar and label items himself. Not that his scribbles made any sense, but it was a commendable attempt.

It was also the longest amount of time, in this or any life, that they had spent together without trying to kill each other.

* * *

No matter how many locks he installed around the house, the boy got through all of them. Some, he broke. Others, he picked. One appeared completely untouched, yet the boy got past it anyway and Ganondorf hadn’t the faintest idea how. It never happened while he was watching, and the boy never made any noise as he did it.

However, the boy cared more about finding things than using or destroying them. If Ganondorf showed him everything in a room, and didn’t lock it again, the boy would get bored and leave the room alone. It also helped to give him his own tools and supplies, so he wouldn’t raid Ganondorf’s. Thus, Ganondorf could get his work done. He had to accept that the boy was like a force of nature, and couldn’t be stopped, only redirected on a less destructive path.

Unfortunately, after five years, the boy still didn’t accept _him_ , judging by the continued refusal to speak or smile. He also continued to bring home things that gave Ganondorf migraines.

“Why do you have a _molduga scale?”_

The boy, as always, looked perfectly unruffled, as if Ganondorf was the strange one. At least he’d waited until Ganondorf finished playing the organ this time. But still, a _molduga scale._

Moldugas were, after Ganondorf himself, the most complete and evil bastards that slithered through Hyrule. Colossal snake-fish with mouths the size of a sandbarge and tempers hotter than the desert, they made even Ganondorf’s troops march the other way. They were also very capable of killing a seven-year-old, Hero or not.

“Bokoblin!” Ganondorf shouted toward the door. “Come here!”

The bokoblin assigned to watch the boy poked its head through the door, then scrambled over.

“Have you been letting the boy endanger himself?”

The wretched creature made a series of jerky hand motions and whining noises, and Ganondorf did not have the patience for this.

“It’s a simple question, you overgrown swine. Have you allowed my ward to get into danger?”

It shook its head hurriedly, and threw up its hands in defeat.

“Then where is the child getting these things? Is he going on excavations? Finding treasure maps? Stealing the scales off sand-slugs while they sleep?”

The bokoblin groaned. It flailed and shook its head, as if it didn’t know either.

“Then perhaps,” Ganondorf snarled, “I should replace you with a caretaker that does its job!”

The bokoblin cowered. Ganondorf raised a hand to banish it to the abyss, but the boy ran in front of it. Ganondorf’s face twisted in a scowl.

“Boy, move out of my way.”

The boy met his gaze steadily, standing between Ganondorf and the bokoblin. Of all times for the stupid child to develop an affection for the forces of evil, it had to be at the worst possible moment.

“You cannot be serious.”

The boy didn’t move. The bokoblin made a whuffling noise behind him, and the boy held out a hand, as if telling it to stay back. His face held the same expression from the first life he’d faced Ganondorf, and the second, and the tenth. An expression unsuited for a child, though familiar in its coldness.

But it was not how Ganondorf wanted the boy to regard him this time. Not when his plan relied on the boy never confronting him at all. It wouldn’t do to lose five years of work to an outburst of temper.

“Fine,” he said, lowering his hand. “You may stay.”

The bokoblin heaved a sigh of relief, and the boy’s posture eased, though he didn’t smile.

“But! It’s clear that neither of you is responsible enough to go outside unattended. From now on, you will remain inside except with my supervision.”

The bokoblin winced, but bowed in acquiescence. The boy nodded, then held up his hands and made a screw-like gesture.

Ganondorf trudged out, rubbing his temples. That kid _really_ needed a better hobby.


	4. Student

With further excursions banned, Ganondorf had to get used to the boy being constantly underfoot. And with that, the potential for _trouble_ was constantly underfoot, as well. If Ganondorf wanted his home to survive the next few years intact, he needed to occupy the boy with a hobby besides breaking things, or breaking _into_ things.

Or stealing things. It became routine for him to go to Link’s room and look through the drawers and closet to retrieve whatever the boy had squirreled away. Oddly, the boy never protested, and even helped Ganondorf look. At least his spurts of resentment didn’t last long.

Ganondorf paused, arm half-deep in a pile of shirts. The boy stopped as well, and glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

Ganondorf had no illusions about himself: he was not a kindly or affectionate guardian. Not that he could be, after he and the Hero had spent nine hundred years trying to murder each other. Five years might not be enough to break that legacy, but he’d hoped the boy would have bonded with him at least a little.

He snapped the drawer shut. Bonding. How in Din’s name was he supposed to do that? What did the boy even like, apart from theft, dead things, and vandalism? Ganondorf needed to think on this for a while.

He left the boy’s room, and returned to his pipe organ. He began with some simple arpeggios, chords, and an old Gerudo folk song about the Seven Heroines. His musical ear was rough from lack of use, and he spent as much time trying to get the notes right as playing them. But slowly, the chorus came together. He progressed to working out the verses when he felt himself being watched.

The boy was peaking through a crack in the door, face half-hidden behind the wood.

Ganondorf was about to shoo him out, as usual. But come to think of it…

“Boy, come here. Sit by me.”

The boy frowned, brows knit in skepticism.

“You’re not in trouble,” Ganondorf said. “You’re going to learn to play.”

 _That_ got his attention. In two seconds the boy was sitting beside him on the organ bench, eyes darting over the keys. His feet dangled, and he couldn’t reach two of the keyboards, but he seemed eager to try.

It was slow going, at first. Ganondorf constantly reminded him to sit up straight, and he had to get a cushion so the boy could get more height and keep his wrists down. The key-fingerings were difficult for his small hands.

Ganondorf taught him a few simple chords, and had the boy make them while Ganondorf played the melody. The boy could catch wrong notes immediately, and had an almost instinctive ear for rhythm and key. Even without sheet music, he could anticipate the beats and time the chords appropriately.

When Ganondorf glanced at him, the boy had raised his chin and squared his shoulders, and his eyes held a look of deep concentration. When they finished the song, he leaned back and let out a calm huff, as if satisfied. Then he looked towards Ganondorf as if to say, _What’s next?_

It wasn’t a smile. But it was the closest they’d gotten yet.

Organ lessons became a daily practice, and the boy progressed quickly. He’d poke Ganondorf and point toward the drawing room if Ganondorf forgot. In between lessons, the slow, careful notes sounded through the house, sometimes repeating a technique he’d learned. But just as often, he improvised, stringing together sounds like most children put together blocks.

More surprising was the boy’s fascination with the mechanical workings of the organ. The only way Ganondorf dissuaded him from taking it apart on his own, was to let him take it apart under supervision _._ That way Ganondorf could keep track of which part went where, and could prevent the boy from accidentally breaking anything. The boy proved surprisingly good about that, however. More than once, Ganondorf went to bed wondering how he would transport an organ repairman all the way to the desert, only to find the instrument reassembled and functional the next morning.

He started buying mechanical odds and ends on his trips to Kara Kara to see what the boy would do with them. Screws, hammers, levers, locks. His ward built useless things, and occasionally a contraption that worked. It became his new favorite activity when collecting dead creatures wasn’t an option.

But the boy still wouldn’t speak or smile. It wasn’t _necessary,_ not for a minion. But it mattered for the reincarnation of the Hero, who had always been silent and blank-faced before stabbing Ganondorf to death.

So, the next time he spotted the boy putting pieces of metal together, Ganondorf sat down across from him.

“You’re working quite intently on that.”

The boy nodded, keeping his eyes on the screw he was spinning into place.

“Will you tell me what it is?”

The boy hummed, but didn’t look up. Ganondorf took a deep breath, and reminded himself to be patient.

“Whatever it is, it’s clearly important to you. So I want to hear about it.”

For a long moment, the boy didn’t move. His eyes darted across the bits of wood and metal scattered across the table. Finally, he set down his contraption, looked Ganondorf in the eye, and made a vague motion with his hands.

“That doesn’t tell me anything. I need you to use words.”

The boy pursed his lips and looked away.

“I know you don’t like to talk,” Ganondorf said, trying not to let his annoyance show, “but if you want assistance or to ask for specific parts, you have to do it at some point. You’re only making things more difficult for yourself.”

The boy’s eyes widened, and he stood up and stomped to his room.

Ganondorf groaned, and rubbed his brow. This was not going to be easy.

* * *

“And that’s the Meadelan mode,” he explained, plucking each of the organ keys in turn. “It’s used for more despondent, yearning melodies. You see how it sounds different from the brighter Karusan mode.”

The boy nodded, intent on the motions of each finger. He waited for Ganondorf to finish the scale, then imitated it slowly, but properly.

“Good job. I’m going to play another key. I want you to tell me if it’s Meadelan or Karusan.”

A small frown crept onto the boy’s face. Ganondorf transposed the scale into Karusan D, and played through the octave twice.

“Meadelan or Karusan?”

The boy frowned at him, shoulders stiff and jaw tight. He held up his hands helplessly.

“It’s fine if you aren’t sure. Just guess.”

The boy glanced back to the keys, straightened up, and played a perfect Karusan scale.

“Yes, those are the notes, but I need you to give me the _name.”_

The boy gave him a look that was absolutely scathing.

Ganondorf snarled, “Don’t look at me in that tone of—” before realizing the statement made no sense.

The boy made jerky hand motions, practically jabbing the air in frustration.

“Words, boy. Use your words.”

The boy let his hands fall to the floor, and huffed.

Clearly, a different approach was needed.

Ganondorf thought back years ago, to when he’d first learned to ride a horse. Horses were skittish creatures, and responded best to calm, consistent encouragement. On their own, they’d never jump through rings or gallop into battle. You had to teach them gradually: first reward them for stepping over a low bar, then raise the bar a little higher, and higher, to mold the horse’s behavior towards your goal.

“Very well,” he said. “I want you to make one more sound.”

The boy cocked his head. “Mmm?”

“That will do.”

He stood up and awkwardly patted the child on the head. The boy merely blinked at him.

“That’s enough for today. Good work. You are dismissed.”

The boy blinked again, as if disbelieving. His gaze dropped to the ground, and he tapped his throat, shaking his head.

Ganondorf froze. A cold and tight feeling coiled around his stomach.

“Link.”

The boy’s eyes flickered up.

“You _can’t_ speak, can you?”

Another shake of the head, a pained hum, and the boy’s eyes darted away again. Ganondorf took a deep breath and steadied himself against the organ.

Damn it all, damn the gods, damn his own inability to _see._

Another small noise came from the bench, and the boy was watching him with wide, cautious eyes.

“It’s alright, my boy. I’m not upset with you. Go outside and play with the bokoblins.”

The boy nodded, and rose from the bench, movements more subdued than usual. He left, shoulders slumping, and closed the door behind him in silence.

A new ache formed in Ganondorf’s chest, not burning like the wound the Hero had given him, but heavy, like the exhaustion of nine hundred years was hitting him all at once.

He wasn’t the only one who had suffered for it.

* * *

“Link,” Ganondorf said, gently shaking the boy awake. “Get up. We’re going to Kara Kara.”

The boy was grumpy, as usual in the mornings, but between Ganondorf and the bokoblin they managed to rouse him from bed. It was dark and bitterly cold outside, the last of the stars still visible, but they needed to leave early. In a few hours the day would become too hot.

They put on their sand-colored cloaks, and set off across the desert, with magical help to shorten the trip. They arrived as dawn was breaking to a bazaar packed with people. The crowds grew thickest in the mornings and evenings, the brief hours when it was comfortable enough to do business outdoors. But the night bazaar was full of things no seven-year-old should see, so waking early was necessary.

Kara Kara was a strange village. Said “village” dwarfed any Gerudo city from Ganondorf’s era, as did the people. The modern Gerudo stood nearly a hand taller than he did, and all looked well-fed and healthy. The market stalls brimmed with crops from all over Hyrule, and even common laborers bought fruits, wines and cheeses without batting an eye. Every Gerudo wore vivid and embroidered clothing, such as only the wealthy could have afforded in earlier times, and more of them had lived to old age. They haggled with Hylians without either side reaching for their weapons, or charging different prices to the other. Gorons, bird-people, and even a Zora joined them, as if five peoples crowding over and around each other was the most unremarkable sight in the world.

Under normal circumstances, he never would have brought the boy here. The more contact the boy had with the rest of Hyrule, the more opportunities there were for bad influences (heroic influences) to creep in. But after their “conversation” the other day, when it turned out Link couldn’t speak...well, the boy couldn’t _say_ what he wanted, so Ganondorf would let him pick out a few things he liked. It could provide useful information for keeping the boy’s loyalty later.

“Stay by me.” He took the boy’s hand in his. “This is not a safe place to wander alone.”

The boy pressed his lips in a thin line, and nodded. Gerudo boys weren’t the prime kidnapping targets they were in Ganondorf’s time, and Link wasn’t a true Gerudo. But just in case, Ganondorf wouldn’t let him out of arm’s reach.

As they walked down a side-street toward the town square, the boy watched the people around him with wary eyes. Ganondorf need not have worried: the boy flinched any time a shopper looked at him, and stuck to Ganondorf’s side like stucco on sandstone.

But as they arrived in the main thoroughfare, they found the crowd silent, and a sharp voice called out.

“Calatian raiders have been reported on the western border. Her Mercy, Princess Zelda Arconia Hyrule, is offering a reward of five thousand rupees for information on their activities or whereabouts.”

It was one of the bird-people. A “Rito,” apparently. The bird-man had thick violet feathers and keen, beady eyes, and he carried himself like an officer. Around his neck he wore a scarf of Hylian blue, with gold trim evoking that of the Hylian royal army.

Behind him stood a troop of warriors. Not Gerudo warriors, but soldiers of Hyrule. The squad included Hylians, Rito, Gorons, and a Zora in their ranks. All wore scarves in the royal colors. It stung Ganondorf to see his fellow Gerudo there, as if they’d forgotten the war that had slaughtered Ganondorf’s tribe.

The boy made a small whimper, and Ganondorf glanced down to see his grip had tightened around the boy’s hand. He let go for a moment to pat the boy’s shoulder.

“Be not alarmed. It is not you I am angry with.”

The boy glanced toward the soldiers, and grabbed the edge of Ganondorf’s cloak, knuckles cracking in his other hand.

It was strange to see the Hylian (Hyrulean?) army out here. In previous centuries, they’d never extended their reach beyond the Hylian heartland itself, except during wars against the Gerudo or Zora. This meant Fort Ular was that much less isolated, and he would have to avoid drawing attention before he was ready to attack.

The Rito finished his speech, and led the squadron to march off. The marketplace watched them go, and no one moved until the soldiers were almost out of sight. They resumed speaking, quietly at first, and doing business once more.

“You should look at the things for sale,” Ganondorf said, “and find a few you want.”

The boy frowned up at him, and regarded the rest of the bazaar as if Ganondorf had asked him to jump into a pit of snakes.

Ganondorf took the boy around, hoping to get a better idea of the boy’s interests. But with each minute that passed, the boy only grew more tense. Even when Ganondorf found a stall selling musical instruments and modern, “printed” sheet music, the boy hid behind him and refused to look up.

“I wish the soldiers wouldn’t come through so often,” muttered the Hylian vendor to her Gerudo partner. “They’re terrible for business.”

The Gerudo wore the earrings and skin-paint of a _vey,_ despite the mixed company of the bazaar. Their eyes briefly lingered on Ganondorf. He kept his eyes on the sheet music folios, looking as ordinary as a male Gerudo could.

“From what I hear,” the vey said in a low tone, “the royals are worried about Ganon returning.”

“Right,” the Hylian said. “And Lake Hylia’s been flooded by the Windfish.”

“That’s the capital for you.” The Gerudo shrugged. “They take their prophecies seriously over there.”

The Hylian huffed in annoyance. “You can get a prophecy to say anything you like if you’ve got the rupees for it.”

“Can’t buy the princess.”

Ganondorf stopped, keeping his face as neutral as possible. So the princess was having visions already?

He listened for a few more minutes, and felt the vey’s gaze on him again.

“You planning to buy anything,” they said, “or eavesdrop some more?”

He smiled at them. “Buying, of course. What do you have for keyboard instruments?”

A nearby farmer fumbled her pot, lid clattering to the ground, and Link’s eyes jerked to it, brown hand darting toward his hip. As if to draw a sword that wasn’t there. Ganondorf moved to steady him with a touch on the shoulder, and the boy yelped and pulled away.

“Link, it’s alright. Nothing bad is happening.”

The boy clapped his hands over his ears, trembling, and fixed his eyes on the ground. Ganondorf reached out toward him again, only for the boy to pull away and hiss.

Ganondorf felt the eyes of the music-vendors upon him. He probably looked like a kidnapper. Which, technically he was, but not _that_ kind of kidnapper.

“Not used to crowds, is he?” asked the vey.

Ganondorf shook his head. “It’s that obvious, is it?”

“Poor little wren,” they said. “Let him in here. He’s overwhelmed.”

The vey opened a curtain to the inside of their tent, a quiet space out of the sun, with rugs and pillows on the floor. Ganondorf gestured for Link to go in, and soon the boy was huddled in a corner, hands over his ears and eyes tightly shut.

The vey poked their head out through the curtain and said, “Jinya, could you watch the stall for a few minutes?”

The Hylian called back, “You’re too soft, _amorey_.”

“Thank you. Love you too.”

Ganondorf raised an eyebrow at the gender-neutral word of endearment. That must have been another custom that changed since his time. Not the vey—they’d always been around—but the openness with non-Gerudo.

The vey returned to his side, a sympathetic look on their face.

“Thank you,” he said.

“It’s no problem. I was the same way, at his age.”

He raised an eyebrow, and regarded the vey more thoughtfully. “And you are...?”

“Sumati.” They held up their lyre. “This is my savior. The notes, the vibrations of the strings, they make sense of the chaos around me. Your boy needs something like that.”

“We’re not in the market for a lyre.”

“Not necessarily a lyre.” They set the instrument aside. “I mean a tool to help him keep his head straight. What does he do to calm down?”

“He likes mechanical things.”

“That will do.” Sumati passed Link a _zezva,_ a flute-like instrument with several valves and joints that could click open and shut. The boy refused to look up or take his hands off his ears at first, so the vey set the instrument down beside him. But after a few minutes of stillness, he hesitantly picked up the zezva to fiddle with it.

Ganondorf had to admit that it was a good sales technique, if opportunistic.

Sumati tapped their chin. “He doesn’t speak?”

“Not a word.” He sighed, and continued in a lower tone. “I’ve been trying to connect with him better, but you saw how that’s going.”

“What do you mean?”

“He pulled away when I tried to comfort him.”

Sumati tilted their head. “You think he did that because he dislikes you?”

“What else could it be?”

“My best guess? He’s overwhelmed by the noise and motion of the crowd. Did you see how he was glued to your side for the ten minutes leading up to that? He clearly sees you as the most trustworthy person here. It’s the touch he couldn’t handle, not you.”

Beyond the curtain, the vendors’ shouts, wagon-clatters and buskers roared as loudly as ever. Even Ganondorf had been taken aback by the bazaar’s size and energy on his first visit. But that couldn’t explain his ward’s reticence completely.

“Even at home, he never speaks.”

Sumati studied the boy from the corner of their eye. “Can he hear you?”

“Perfectly, though whether he listens is another matter.”

Sumati nodded. “Not the ears, then. What about his mouth and throat? Does he have any trouble swallowing, chewing, any sign of pain?”

Ganondorf shook his head. “None.”

“And is he completely silent?”

“He can make sounds. But he doesn’t use words.”

Sumati hummed, and leaned back, one finger tapping at their elbow.

“Has he been hurt? Any great shock or losses in his life?”

Not in this era. But in previous lives, constantly. The Hero didn’t just face Ganondorf, but bandaged his own wounds in the wilderness, scraped himself out of pits and prisons and shipwrecks, and fought his way through every demon and monster in Hyrule. Impressive feats for anyone, especially for a boy who never reached eighteen before he had to fight for his life.

Once, he’d been only nine.

“He lost his mother at a young age,” Ganondorf said, “and we moved across the country. We never managed to recover from that.”

At least it was a half-truth.

Sumati hummed. “If he can’t speak with words, he’s probably speaking in other ways.”

He grimaced. If true, that was _not_ encouraging.

“His primary form of communication is stealing things and hiding them in his room.”

“And what do you do when he does that?”

“Take them back, of course.”

Sumati raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like he wants your attention.”

“I do give him attention. We have music lessons every afternoon.”

“And has he been stealing things less since you started that?”

He opened his mouth to retort, but stopped, frowned, and huffed. Sumati smirked.

“It’s not just that,” he said. “He collects dead things and animal parts and brings them into the house. Sometimes he’ll shove them right in my face.”

“Children love disgusting things. He’s sharing his interests with you.”

“If only he could do it in a more normal way.”

Sumati’s smile dropped. They crossed their arms, and frowned at him for a long moment. At last, they straightened up and ran a brown hand through their hair.

“Sometimes,” they said at last, “a child is born a little different from the others. They play differently from how most children play, don’t talk the way most children talk. They’re sensitive to things that don’t bother most people, and miss cues that other people pick up on. In the old days people used to think they were changelings.”

Ganondorf cast a disapproving eye towards the road where the soldiers had left.

“Typical Hylians,” he muttered.

Sumati blinked and tilted their head. “What do Hylians have to do with this?”

Everything. Every problem started with the Hylians. But there was a time and place to talk about that, and waiting for his boy to calm down in a stranger’s tent was not it.

“Never mind.”

For a long moment, Sumati studied him, a faint furrow in their brow.

“But regardless,” they said in a low voice, “he loves you, and he’s trying to connect with you as best he can. Your job is to learn how to connect with him.”

Ganondorf grunted. “That’s what I’m trying to do.”

Sumati huffed, and rubbed their forehead.

“What about sign language? There are schools in the Holy City and in the capital that teach it.”

Were there now? He added that to the list of changes in this time period.

They added, “He’d be able to make friends with other children who sign, too.”

“A nice thought, but moving is not an option. And I won’t board him with another family.”

Especially not when that would defeat the point of raising the boy as an ally in the first place.

“Fair enough,” they said. “What about teaching him to read and write?”

Ganondorf wrinkled his lip. He’d only learned the Hylian script out of necessity. The Gerudo of _his_ era had as little to do with that barbaric language as possible, and certainly wouldn’t teach it to their children.

“Books are getting cheaper,” Sumati said. “It’s not as hard to learn as it was for you or me.”

He crossed his arms, and glared at the far wall of the tent.

“Or...” they said more carefully, “if you need to, you could give him pictures, and have him hold one up when he wants to say something?”

Ganondorf glowered. “I _know_ how to read.”

Sumati held up a placating hand. “Of course you do.”

“But it’s only writing,” Ganondorf said. “I want him to learn to communicate.”

“Get your head out of the sand.”

The bluntness made him blink. The vey glanced toward Link, who had managed to take apart the zezva and put it back together. Then Sumati stepped outside, and gestured for Ganondorf to follow.

The moment he did, Link jumped up and ran to his side, clutching the edge of his cloak once more. Ganondorf looked down at the boy, who peered up at him with wide, worried eyes, fingers tight around the fabric as if he was afraid _Ganondorf_ would run off.

“Link, I’m not going to leave you. We were merely stepping out to talk.”

The boy dipped his head, and he released a breath, though he didn’t let go. Ganondorf stared for a moment, disbelieving, before slowly laying a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Link stiffened, but didn’t pull away this time.

Sumati snorted. “I hope that answers your doubts from earlier.”

Ganondorf pressed his lips together, and said nothing.

“Look,” they said softly. “If a person has a broken arm, you don’t ask them to climb a ladder, you show them a flight of stairs.” They retrieved a book from one of their satchels. “Here.”

Ganondorf took it, and flipped through the pages, revealing large, printed text over colorful pictures. Books like this were rare, and it must have been expensive.

He skimmed the story. Another Hylian-friendly one. It was difficult to find children’s books that weren’t Hylian-friendly, and which didn’t have offensively wholesome messages, like friendship, tolerance, and standing up for what was right. This one described how the goddesses of the Triforce created the world.

“Forty rupees,” Sumati said. “I taught my own girl to read on this.”

“I have plenty of books at home.”

“But do you have books a six-year-old will sit still for?”

Ganondorf almost argued that Link was seven, not six, but the point held. And reading out plans for conquest and infiltration to a seven-year-old might not have been the best way to keep said plans a secret. Children weren’t known for their discretion.

The storybook was dull and simplistic, but full of colorful pictures. If he removed the last few pages, it could suit his purposes.

“Ten rupees,” he said.

“Forty. I’m already giving you a generous discount because I like the kid.”

“Fifteen.”

“Forty, or get out of my tent.”

He scowled, but gave them forty rupees.

“Link,” he said, “do you want to pick out some new books, or would you rather go straight home?”

Link bit his lip, thinking for a moment, before pointing towards the mountains.

“Alright. We’re going back.” He nodded to Sumati. “Thank you for your advice.”

The vey smiled. “We’ll be getting some new sheet music in a few weeks. Stop by anytime.”

As he left the bazaar with Link, several folios of sheet music, and a book, he hoped that this would be worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link could be seen as on the autistic spectrum, though the Hyruleans don't have a word for that yet.
> 
> To learn more about ways to communicate without speaking, check out [augmentative and alternative communication](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Augmentative_and_alternative_communication).


	5. Signer

That evening, Ganondorf sat down on Link’s bed and opened the picture book. The boy regarded the book dubiously at first, but took a seat beside him when prompted. Frankly, Ganondorf was skeptical as well, but it was worth a shot.

He read slowly, pointing out each word with his finger. Link leaned closer, following the motion across the page.

“Once upon a time,” Ganondorf read, “there were three goddesses: Nayru, watery goddess of wisdom; Din, fiery goddess of power; and Farore, the windy goddess of courage. They filled the young world with plants, animals, and people. Nayru gave them fins, and they became Zora. Farore gave some of the Zora wings, and they became Rito...”

He scowled. The book must have been written by Hylians. They liked to see themselves as the default, and other species as modifications of that template. Besides, everyone knew where the Rito had _really_ come from, and it wasn’t as pleasant as the book made it sound.

“Link,” he said, and pointed to Din’s name. “Do you see this word?”

Link nodded.

“Is this Din, Nayru or Farore?”

The boy pointed to the image of Din, red and wreathed in flames. Ganondorf was grudgingly impressed.

“And can you say her name out loud? _Din.”_

The boy shook his head.

“At least try.”

The boy averted his eyes. Ganondorf sighed, but continued.

“The people worked and played,” he read, “and thanked the goddesses for giving them life. They thanked Farore for giving them food, and Nayru for watering their farms. But Din’s fires would burn their crops and make their animals flee, so they feared and hated her.

“Din became angry that her sisters were loved while she was hated. So she went down to the earth, and set it all on fire. The farms burned. The forests burned. Even the plants and animals and people burned. The whole world was turned to ash. The hottest embers of her anger fell to the ground, and turned into a demon.”

The boy shifted at his side, and he felt Link’s shoulders tensing up. When Ganondorf looked down, Link had turned from the book, knuckles cracking, and his eyes fixed on the floor.

“Link,” Ganondorf said.

The boy didn’t look up.

“It’s only a story. It didn’t really happen.”

Link swallowed, and nodded, but still didn’t make eye contact.

Ganondorf closed the book. “Never mind. This was a foolish idea.”

He made to stand up, but felt a tug at his side. Link had finally looked up, frowning, eyes glancing between Ganondorf and the book.

“Fine.” Ganondorf sat back down. “Pay attention.”

He reopened the book, and Link settled against his side.

“Nayru and Farore came down to the earth, and asked Din why she did it. Din said it was unfair that they were loved and she was hated. ‘And are you happy,’ Farore asked, ‘now that everything is gone?’ But as Din looked at the ash covering the world, she felt no joy. There was only sorrow, because something beautiful had been destroyed.”

He paused. The pictures in the book were almost entirely black now, like a covering of soot over the world.

“Din said to the others, ‘I am sorry. In my anger, I hurt people. And because you loved the people, I have hurt you as well.’”

He shut his eyes, recalling sands stained red, and a body shaking in his arms for the last time.

The boy was tensing up again, and Ganondorf put an arm around his shoulders. He opened his eyes and continued to read.

“Nayru and Farore said to Din, ‘You are our sister. We are saddened, but we love you. We will rebuild the world together.’ And so they did. Nayru brought back the Zora and Hylians. Farore brought back the Rito. The world became beautiful again.”

If only mortals could get back their loved ones so easily.

“Din walked among the people,” he read. “She wished to make amends for the harm she had caused. So she gave them a part of her fire, and taught them how to use it. They learned how to cook food and forge metal. They learned to keep themselves warm at night and to light their way in the darkness. Now the people thanked Din, like they thanked Nayru and Farore. When Nayru and Farore saw her work, they made Gorons and the Gerudo for her. And that is how the five peoples came to be.”

Then there was some nonsense about how the remnants of Din’s anger—some made-up spirit called “Demise”—tried to destroy everything again. According to the book, the goddesses blocked the mortal world from divine intervention to protect it from Demise’s corruption, with the Triforce as the sole gate letting their power through.

That was a charitable explanation for why the gods no longer walked the earth. Pity it wasn’t true. The Triforce _was_ the main conduit for godly power, but they could also manifest through mortal bodies, as with Link and the princess.

Ganondorf shut the book. “A trite little story. Link, what did you think?”

Link made no response. Ganondorf glanced down, and found the boy asleep against his side.

Ganondorf clenched his jaw. How was the boy supposed to learn to read if he didn’t pay attention? Ganondorf should shake him awake and make him go through the whole text himself.

Beside him, Link snuggled closer in his sleep. It was the calmest he’d ever been, in this or previous lifetimes. The boy rarely allowed anyone to hug him, even the princess.

Perhaps he could allow the child to rest for a few minutes more. He could always strike the fear of gods into him later.

* * *

He brought out other books and scrolls over the next few days, and tried reading aloud the labels he’d put on Link’s jars and bottles. The boy perked up every time Ganondorf brought out a book, and always managed to get himself under Ganondorf’s arm, leaning against his side. He would pull out his whole jar collection and listen to each item being named in turn, eyes wide and curious. But no matter how simple the words, or how many times Ganondorf prompted him, he didn’t speak.

So Ganondorf tried Sumati’s other idea: writing.

He took out a pen, paper and inkwell, and spread them out on the table. He started by writing the names of the goddesses from the story, sounding out each letter he put to paper, and gave Link the pen to imitate him. But the boy’s attention wandered, and after a few minutes he ran off to his room. Ganondorf dragged him out.

“I’m trying to teach you to communicate, child. Do you want to use words or not?”

Link stared up at him, face blank, and held up a bottle of something red and vaguely upsetting.

“Yes, boy, you have a bottle, but it is _not_ important now.”

He took the bottle from Link’s hands, ignoring the boy’s unhappy noise.

“You _will_ learn how to write. After we’re done you can have your,” he checked the label he’d written, “your... _pickled moblin toes_ back.”

He worried about that child sometimes.

Wait a second. Link did like it when Ganondorf labeled the bottles…

“We’re getting more of these,” he said. “You’re going to learn to label them yourself.”

That got the boy’s attention. In five minutes they had a long line of bottles, paper cut into scraps, and ink smeared all over Link’s hands and the table.

Once he caught Link’s interest, the boy took to writing remarkably fast. His handwriting was abysmal, but that was to be expected. He soon figured out that each letter corresponded to a sound, even if he couldn’t articulate those sounds himself. Within a few days of practice, he’d memorized the Hylian alphabet and started putting sentences together on his own. Simplistic, poorly-spelled sentences, but language all the same.

More importantly, Ganondorf could finally ask him questions.

“Where did you get the molduga scale?”

The boy wrote, “From a moldooga.”

“Please tell me it wasn’t alive.”

He hummed, and chewed his lip for a moment before writing, “Does it cownt if its not alive now?”

Ganondorf put his head in his hands.

“Do you want to die? Don’t do that anymore.”

Link shrugged, not even bothering to look ashamed.

Next, Ganondorf held up the picture book. “Which of the goddesses is your favorite?”

“Faroree.”

Ganondorf sighed. Of course it was.

“Why Farore? Surely Din is a more interesting figure. Her relationship with her sisters, remorse for her past, the way her power could be used for good or evil. Why of all things would you pick Farore?”

Link twiddled the pen in his hands, looking thoughtful. He dipped the pen in the ink and started to scribble again. When he was done, he held the paper up for Ganondorf to read.

“I like green.”

Ganondorf covered his face with both hands and tried not to groan.

They continued practicing, and Link quickly picked up new words. But after a while he stopped, and frowned at the paper. He scribbled out another sentence.

“How do you rite,” it said.

Ganondorf squinted at it. “How do you write what?”

Link made a fist with his thumb out and waved his hand to the side.

“One?” Ganondorf guessed. “Bad?”

Link shook his head, and repeated the gesture.

“Try spelling it out. I’ll correct your mistakes.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Link crossed out a word on the paper, wrote a few more, and held it up again. He made the same gesture again.

“How do you spell say this”

Ganondorf tapped his chin. He had to be missing something.

Link wrote a few more words: “With mouth not hands”

“Something you can do with your mouth, not your hands?”

Link nodded. He pointed to the word “say.”

“Yes,” Ganondorf said wearily, “people generally talk with their mouths, but what are you—”

Wait.

“Link,” he said, “can you say ‘desert’ with your hands?”

Link brightened. He slid a finger past his chin and moved his hands palms-down.

“What about ‘bottle’?”

Link rested one curved hand on his palm, and raised the top hand as if to outline a bottle neck, motions fluid as if he’d done them many times. These weren’t arbitrary gestures, but practiced signs. His boy had been using _sign language._ Where had he even picked that up?

How much else had Ganondorf missed in the last five years?

“Where did you learn to talk with your hands?”

Link responded with another sign.

Ganondorf felt like smacking himself. “Write it down, if possible.”

Link did so, and held up the word “bokoblin.”

“The _bokoblins_ have a sign language?”

A nod.

Ganondorf didn’t want to think about the implications of that. There were too many revelations today already. For now, he would return to the training grounds, conjure a fireball, and blast the training dummies to smithereens.

* * *

The next morning, after his usual combat practice, Ganondorf walked with Link and the black bokoblin to the monster barracks. His legion was larger now, as more of his magic had returned to him, and the wound in his chest only ached occasionally. But they couldn’t equal the Hylian army yet, in either numbers or skill.

The monsters had rebuilt Ular’s sandstone walls, covered them with plaster, and thatched the roofs with saltgrass. Murals of red, pink, yellow, brown, white and black covered the houses and stretched up the inner walls of the cliff. A well, complete with water-pump and snow-melt channel, stood proudly in the town plaza, and a pair of moblins roasted quails over a spit nearby.

Upon spotting Ganondorf, the moblins dropped what they were doing and stood at attention, but Link ignored them, darting into a side-alley. He skittered through streets free of rubble, hopping over chalk drawings and handmade pottery. At length he stopped at a yellow hut with a handwoven cloth hung up as a curtain, and a soft humming coming from inside. Link whistled, and waited for Ganondorf and the bokoblin to catch up.

The humming stopped. A moblin poked its head through the curtain, burbled happily at Link, then yelped and straightened up when it caught sight of Ganondorf.

“At ease.” Ganondorf crossed his arms. “I am only here to observe.”

The moblin tilted its head, and Link signed something that made it pull the curtain back and welcome them into the house. They’d carved low tables, shelves and a chest from mesquite wood, and woven saltgrass into cushions. Link and the bokoblin sat down around a fire-pit automatically, like they’d come here many times. The moblin and another bokoblin—a red one—joined them, huddled side by side.

“Out with it.” Ganondorf glowered down at them. “Which of you taught my boy sign language?”

The moblin and bokoblins sat there stupidly, sharing a glance between them. He didn’t know what that glance was supposed to mean, but it couldn’t be anything good.

Link held up the notebook Ganondorf had given him this morning. On a new page, he’d written: “Don’t be mean.”

Ganondorf glowered. “I have every right to question my troops, boy.”

Link gave him an unimpressed look. He tapped the word “mean.”

This would be a much easier conversation if the translator had the slightest respect for Ganondorf’s authority.

Link held out a hand, and gestured around the circle.

“All of them did it?”

The boy nodded. He continued signing, faster than he had yesterday, and fast enough that Ganondorf couldn’t tell where one sign ended and another began. The moblin signed back, and Link shrugged. He pointed toward Ganondorf and made an exasperated face.

“Link,” Ganondorf said. “Translate what you said.”

Link paused in the middle of signing, but nodded and took out the pen and paper. He wrote: “I told them to go slow becus you cant reade hands properly.”

Ganondorf blinked, initially offended, before he realized this was the longest sentence he’d ever heard—no, seen, from Link. The spelling was poor, but the structure was surprisingly complex, and it showed a certain amount of empathy that he couldn’t have picked up from Ganondorf. A certain...kindness.

Ganondorf wasn’t sure whether to appreciate the boy’s intent or to be disappointed. If Link was to be a future lackey in Ganondorf’s iron-fisted dictatorship, he couldn’t go around showing kindness to people.

But for now, Ganondorf would let it slide.

“In any case,” he said, “I wish to learn what you’re saying.”

The underlings looked at each other again. They looked at Link. Link studied Ganondorf for a few moments, before nodding.

“Okay,” he wrote. “Repeat after me.”

They started with finger-spelling, in which each letter of the Hylian alphabet corresponded to a hand-shape. It was much slower than talking, or the complex signs Link had been making earlier. The spellings of words weren’t always accurate, and many were abbreviated. But it did explain why Link picked up writing so easily: he understood the use of symbols to represent each sound in a word, long before he picked up a pen.

Ganondorf was still trying to memorize fingerspelling when Link moved on to names. He demonstrated the signs for “My name is...” and “What’s your name?” and turned to the moblin.

“What’s your name?”

“My name is...” The moblin made a motion vaguely like drawing a bowstring, then finger-spelled, “A-R-R-O-W.”

Ganondorf’s eyebrows rose. Who knew that moblins even _had_ names?

“Thank you, Arrow,” Link signed. He turned to the red bokoblin. “Your name?”

The red bokoblin made another sign, and fingerspelled too quickly for Ganondorf to follow.

“What was that?”

Link signed something else, and the bokoblin repeated the motions more slowly: “My name is Sunshroom. S-U-N-S-H-R-O-O-M.”

“A monster of darkness named after a _plant?”_ Ganondorf muttered.

Link made an annoyed sound, and wrote, “Not a plant. Fungus.”

Somewhere, Ganondorf knew the gods were laughing at him.

Then Link pointed to Ganondorf, and signed, “What’s _your_ name?”

The whole room froze. Four pairs of eyes watched him expectantly.

“Fine,” he said aloud. He held up a hand to practice the letter shapes. “So in fingerspelling, my name would be G-A-N-O-”

Link held up his paper. “Your name is too long.”

“ _Excuse me?”_

Link pointed to the words “too long.” He raised his hand, fingers splayed, and tapped his thumb to his temple. Then he underlined the words “your name.”

Ganondorf raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that name supposed to mean?”

Link turned to the monsters, who squawk-laughed nervously under Ganondorf’s stare.

Ganondorf got the distinct impression that he was missing something. Again.

“Link. You will translate it _now.”_

Link nodded, and fingerspelled, “D-A-D.”

“ _What?”_

“That’s your name,” Link wrote.

Ganondorf blanched. No one had ever conquered a nation while being called “Dad!”

“Where did—who told you to call me that?!”

Link shrugged, and wrote, “Everybody calls you Dad.”

Arrow and Sunshroom squirmed and fidgeted with their claws. The black bokoblin flicked its ears up, as if enjoying the awkwardness.

Ganondorf said aloud, “You will refer to me by my real name.”

Link signed, “Okay, Dad.”

“ _Link,”_ he snapped, and was about to scold him for his impudence, when he noticed something strange: Link was smiling.

He hadn’t known the boy _could_ smile. He opened his mouth to comment on it, but Link was already signing again.

“My name is—” He lowered his left fist to his right hip, then pulled it up diagonally. A quick motion, easier to remember than any of the underlings’ names, but it made Ganondorf’s blood run cold.

Link’s sign-name was the motion of drawing a sword from its hilt.

“Link,” Ganondorf said, “who gave you that name?”

The black bokoblin raised a hand.

“You,” he growled. “How _dare_ you presume to name _my_ child?”

Link frowned, and signed a phrase Ganondorf didn’t understand, and didn’t care to.

“I told you to never let him near a weapon, you stupid rat!”

The bokoblin huffed. Link grabbed his pen and paper again.

“My name is—” the bokoblin signed. The following sign looked like two fingers moving up towards its mouth.

“Fork had to call me something,” Link wrote. “Don’t get mad at her.”

“Fork?” Ganondorf sputtered. _“Her?”_

Link nodded, and so did the bokoblin—Fork. Fork the apparently female bokoblin, who looked just like the...male bokoblins? Vey bokoblins?

That raised questions that Ganondorf didn’t want to think about, so he ignored them and grudgingly accepted that the minion at fault was named Fork. A terrible name, but at least it wasn’t “Spoon.” He would have had to send her to the abyss for that.

Come to think of it, bokoblins didn’t _use_ forks, so why would—no. Not thinking about it.

“She helped a lot,” Link wrote. “She’ll help you learn, too.”

The bokoblin snorted, and signed, “You’re welcome, Dad.”

“Do _not_ call me that.”

She huffed, and grabbed the pen and paper from Link, who made a noise of protest.

“What about ‘Boss’?” she wrote.

Ganondorf stared. First language, then names and gender, now writing. What was next, epic bokoblin poetry?

“Or ‘Grampa,’” she added. “Or ‘Oh Evil One, Dark Lord of th—’”

Link lunged at her, and a scuffle for the notebook ensued. She was eight times his size, and could keep it out of reach, but Link was fast and apparently _not_ out of his biting phase yet.

Ganondorf pressed a hand to his forehead.

“ _Boss_ will suffice,” he said. “I can’t believe I’m saying these, but you two need to share the notebook for now. You are acting like two idiot siblings.”

Link and Fork shared a look, then shrugged at him, as if to say “...Yes?”

“He’s like the little brother I never wanted,” Fork wrote, “and still don’t want.”

Link elbowed her.


	6. Curious

Learning sign language had a surprising benefit: as Ganondorf understood more of what Link was saying, Link became less temperamental. Instead of breaking Ganondorf’s locks or dissecting gila monsters on the table before dinner, he could simply say what he was upset about.

And though he was a child, he could be reasoned with. If he felt that his opinion was being taken seriously, he’d listen to reasons for why, no, the situation was another way. If Ganondorf explained why a rule existed, and what the consequences of breaking it would be, Link would usually follow it.

Usually.

The Hero of Stubbornness didn’t change _that_ much. Especially when it came to bedtime.

The best way to get Link to fall asleep was to tell him a story, but there weren’t many children’s books worth reading. They were almost all disgustingly wholesome, with messages that would encourage Link to be kind, brave and open-minded. Certainly not suitable for the impressionable mind Ganondorf was trying to corrupt.

He resorted to telling Link about history. Real history, not the poppycock being spread around Hyrule by the so-called “printing presses.” He had searched extensively for books that described the Gerudo-Hylian war, but the Hylians must have erased it from the records. Even Gerudo-written books never mentioned it.

Link only tolerated stories if he was in a good mood. But nature was a sure bet. He’d pick up his things, get ready for bed and sit still without being asked as long as he got to hear about plants, animals, or unusual rocks. On the other hand, he often got so fascinated by those subjects that he ended up _more_ awake than before.

So Ganondorf found himself weighing his options one night, considering which book on Link’s shelf was most likely to get the kid to go to sleep, when Link tugged on his sleeve.

“Dad?” he signed.

“Hmm?”

“Were you ever married?”

Ganondorf stopped, a tome half-open in his hands. He replaced it on its shelf, and stepped back. It would be easiest to brush the question aside. But perhaps this was an opportunity.

“Yes,” he said at last. “You had a mother.”

Link’s amber eyes lit up. “What was she like? Did she look like you or me? What was her favorite bug?”

Ganondorf blinked and held up a hand for peace. Link sat, muscles twitching like he could physically grab answers from the air. Ganondorf sat down on the bed, and dredged up a vague memory of the closest candidate he could think of: his second wife, the chief of the Vatorsa clan.

“Her name was Varuq Risokin,” he said. “She had eyes like a horned owl’s, always scanning the horizon for game and enemies. She carried her shortbow and scimitar everywhere.” He smiled. “She was as proud as a lynel and clever as a fox.”

Link leaned forward, crisscrossing his legs. “She sounds neat.”

“She was,” Ganondorf admitted. “She was my favorite wife.”

“You had more than one?”

“I had to. There were no other men in the tribe.”

Link hummed, and looked thoughtful.

“What about Hylians?”

Ganondorf scowled. “No woman with an ounce of dignity would marry _them._ ”

At Link’s confused look, Ganondorf explained.

“A long time ago, the desert was free, not ruled by Hyrule as it is now. All the clans came together to protect us from Hylian invaders. Your mother was a general in our army.”

Link hummed, and mulled that over. “Your wife was really brave, wasn’t she?”

“Her _name_ was Varuq,” he said. “Call her that, or ‘ _v_ _aama_.’”

Link’s eyes widened, and he raised his fist to his chest. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Ganondorf sighed. “And yes, she was the bravest person I’ve known.”

“I want to be brave, too.”

He gave Link a sharp look.

“She would have wanted you to be _safe,_ ” he said. “You’re a boy, after all.”

“Some of the monsters are boys. They’re brave.”

“They have a different duty to perform.” Ganondorf rose from the bed. _“Your_ duty is to go to sleep.”

* * *

As he got better at communicating with his boy, Ganondorf added more lessons to their routine of reading, writing and music. He didn’t bother with science or history: Link had figured out the study was full of books, and would often haul one onto the table and try to read it, no matter how dry or gruesome its content. He sped through the children’s books Ganondorf bought, and soon advanced to texts on biology, botany, and music. But math required actual practice, whether Link liked it or not.

“What’s a s-c-i-m-i-t-a-r?” Link asked during a math lesson, fingerspelling the unfamiliar word.

Another attempt at distraction, but Ganondorf would allow it. Every Gerudo ought to know _that._

“It’s a curved sword developed by the Gerudo for war. It was your mother’s specialty in combat.”

“Can I have one?”

“ _No.”_

“But I want to defend people like she did.”

“The greatest defense a warrior can have is knowledge. Go on to the next equation.”

Link rolled his eyes, but turned back to his paper.

The next question came a few days later, after Link tracked blood into the house. Not _his_ blood, thank Din. Ganondorf made him and Fork clean it up. For a few minutes, they did, until Link set down the towel to sign.

“What was V-a-r-u-q’s favorite animal?”

Ganondorf tried to remember. They hadn’t had time to sit around talking about nature, not during the war. Had she ever mentioned it?

A hazy image came to mind: Varuq squinting against the sky, a raptor landing on her golden-brown arm.

“Her red-tailed hawk,” he said. “It was a rare day they couldn’t catch a hare.”

Link frowned and tugged at his hair.

“No, a hare,” Ganondorf said, signing the word for “rabbit.”

“Ohhh. Thanks.” He scurried off without waiting for a response.

Oh, and there was still blood all over the floor. Blasted child.

* * *

The shelf sagged under four rows of jars with spleens in them. Not four jars, four _rows_ of jars, ranging from tiny sparrow spleens to a Hinox spleen bigger than Link’s head. Ganondorf wouldn’t have recognized them if not for Link’s signing.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he had a budding serial killer on his hands. That probably would have been a good thing for the “corrupt the Hero” plan. On the other hand, even Ganondorf did a double-take at a small child smiling while covered in viscera. It was nice that the boy was finally learning to smile, but more than a little creepy.

“Where are you finding these?” he asked when Link returned.

“Dead animals,” Link signed.

That was both true and completely unhelpful. Although perhaps Ganondorf should have been relieved the animals were dead first.

Link signed again, “How big was Varuq?”

Ganondorf blinked, and frowned at the change in subject.

“Taller than either of us. Gerudo women are always taller.”

“Tall as a moblin?” Link signed, and that was a mental image Ganondorf didn’t need.

“Why are you asking all these questions about your mother?”

“Arrow and Sunshroom are trying to become parents.”

Ganondorf stared. That brought up _worse_ mental images, and about fifteen different questions that he never wanted the answers to.

But he couldn’t help but ask: “Can moblin and bokoblin _be_ a family?”

“ _Anyone_ can be family, Dad,” Link signed. “You just both have to say yes.”

He gave Ganondorf a more patronizing look than any eight-year-old should have been able to make. In fact, he’d probably picked it up from Ganondorf himself, which was oddly touching.

It wasn’t until Link left that Ganondorf remembered he still didn’t know where the spleens were coming from.

The next question came during pipe organ practice. Link stopped after rehearsing a chord progression and signed, “Did she have hair?”

Link didn’t need to specify who “she” was anymore. Ganondorf gave him an incredulous look.

“Why wouldn’t she have hair?”

“Fork’s a girl and she doesn’t have hair.”

Ganondorf couldn’t think of a worse creature to be a baseline for “womanhood.” At this rate, Link was never going to learn how to talk to women, much less reproduce. Not that Ganondorf would have wanted a gaggle of mini-heroes running around; one was bad enough.

Link signed, “How long was it?”

“To her knees,” he said. “But she wore it up so her opponents couldn’t grab it in a brawl.”

Link hummed, and nodded. “Okay.”

He returned to practicing chords. Perhaps it was his way of trying to connect with a parent he’d never known.

Link eventually started bringing in body parts that nobody could identify, not even the monsters who gave them to him. (And Ganondorf put Sunshroom on latrine duty for a month when he’d found out.) So Ganondorf brought home a new book on animal anatomy and wondered if he should bother to read it. Link would plough through it soon enough, and repeat everything he learned to anyone willing to listen.

Even if that meant talking about parasitic worms in the middle of dinner.

Ganondorf would tell him to stop, but that would shut down most of Link’s signing, and it was useful practice for understanding him. If Ganondorf was going to hear—or rather, see—the disgusting topics, perhaps reading about them in advance would make it easier to finish eating the next time Link brought up his terrible, terrible interests.

He was evaluating the book when Link came in. The boy had a huge smile on his face, the kind that never boded well.

Ganondorf steeled himself. “What is it now?”

Link set a picture on Ganondorf’s desk. “I made a thing!”

The paper depicted a woman with brown skin, bright red hair, a sword in one hand and a bird in the other. Three figures were standing at her sides: a tall man and a boy, and a spindly black creature that was vaguely bokoblin-shaped.

“It’s us,” Link signed. “Now you have a picture of V-a-r-u-q.”

Ganondorf stared at the drawing, at the smiles on all their faces. It was so bizarrely disconnected from reality, Ganondorf almost felt bad for lying about it. But this was good for the plan, right? If Link was drawing pictures like this, he wasn’t going to run off to the Hylians any time soon.

Link’s smile slowly faded. He waved to get Ganondorf’s attention.

“You don’t like it?”

Ganondorf had taken too long to respond.

“No, it’s...good.”

This was one of those stereotypical parenting moments. What was it parents did? They gushed and cooed over their child’s cleverness and displayed the drawings proudly, even if their child had the artistic instincts of a coyote. Ganondorf tried not to shudder.

“It’s a good likeness,” he said. “We’ll hang it so it’s always visible.”

And so they did. He attached it with string and wire to the wall in Link’s room, ostensibly so Link would see it and think of their family, but more so that Ganondorf _wouldn’t_. As he hung it, Link made a sound to get his attention.

“Dad?” he signed.

Ganondorf stepped away from straightening the picture. “What is it?”

“What happened to her?”

The ugly memories rose up unbidden: Varuq, shouting, refusing to let him go to the front with her squadron. Insisting the sole man in the tribe was too valuable to risk. Her band of horse-archers riding toward sunrise without him. Sands stained red, clouds of flies thick as smoke, vultures gorging themselves on what used to be people. The wretched helplessness of losing every person he loved, and the shame that he’d done nothing to stop it.

“She fell in battle,” he said. “All the warriors did. She died so you and I could live.”

It wasn’t a total lie. She never would have died for a Hylian, but for the Gerudo culture, absolutely. A culture that only Ganondorf still cared about preserving: their modern offspring seemed content to live under the Hylian yoke, their proud warrior-tradition a shadow of what it used to be.

He could see the exact moment Link understood: his jaw falling slack, the faint furrowing in his brow, arms drawing closer as if against an invisible chill.

“Why was there a battle?”

Ganondorf looked away, breathing slowly so he wouldn’t snap. Whatever the Hero had done in previous lives, he wasn’t responsible for this, and frightening the boy would solve nothing.

“When drought struck the Hylians,” Ganondorf said, “they begged the Gerudo for food, and many moved to the desert. My mothers gave them whatever they could afford, while feeding our own tribe. But the desert was crueler then, and could not support both Gerudo and Hylians for long. When our stores ran dry, we had to send them away. The Hylians ran to their queen, gathered an army, and attacked.”

Link frowned, fingers tapping a melody against his arm.

“There’s a fable,” Ganondorf continued, “about a hunter who took pity on a frozen viper, and took it into her home to warm it by the fire. When the viper recovered, it forgot her kindness, and bit her. That is what the Hylians are like.”

Link hummed, frown deepening. His hands went still, and his eyes drifted to the floor. Ganondorf clapped him on the shoulder reassuringly, but was equally glad to end the discussion there. He returned to his study, and didn’t see Link again until dinner time.

Link asked no more questions about Varuq after that, but occasionally Ganondorf would come in to find him studying the picture, as if trying to piece a puzzle together in his mind.


	7. Hunter

Years passed, and Ganondorf’s power gradually returned. The hole in his chest only ached when he over-exerted himself. He could summon more monsters for his army, and stronger ones: stone taluses, stalnoxes, wizzrobes. They numbered almost a full legion, and in a few years would be ready to attack the capital.

Link slowly grew up. He was still short by Gerudo standards, but Gerudo men were smaller than the women, so it shouldn’t draw too much attention. Ganondorf didn’t have to wonder if he was eating enough anymore. In fact, he had to send for supplies twice a week now to keep up with the boy’s appetite.

Link kept his notepad, but mostly used it for doodling and drawing maps. He used sign language for everything else, and if he didn’t know the sign for a concept he’d make one up. Ganondorf could usually follow it all, but occasionally needed Link to fingerspell. He’d taken to signing as well, but alternated with spoken language so Link wouldn’t forget it.

Link’s most surprising passion, which shouldn’t have been a surprise, was the music. He had long surpassed Ganondorf with the pipe organ, and begun composing melodies. Although, it was less composition, and more that he would sit down and improvise, meander through chords and motifs as he felt like it, and walk away when he was done without writing it down.

When not studying the natural world, Link continued experimenting with tools and mechanical things. He managed to reconstruct the pipe organ in miniature, complete with its own bellows. He helped the moblins string their bows, and hit sparrows with unnervingly good aim before Ganondorf reminded him of the ban on weapon training. No wonder the Hero had always broken through his security in previous lifetimes: to Link, every machine was a toy to pull apart and reconstruct, and every death-trap a puzzle to be solved.

Before, it had been infuriating. Now, Ganondorf looked at it with more interest. He might be able to use Link’s mechanical skills to bolster his regime this time—to turn it into an asset instead of a threat. After all, it wasn’t as if Link remembered what he’d done in previous lives.

Or at least, he shouldn’t.

Shortly after Link’s sixteenth birthday, a melody came from his room that should not have come anywhere near Fort Ular. It was a hymn from centuries ago: Princess Zelda’s Lullaby. A soothing, haunting tune, but it formed a cold pit in Ganondorf’s stomach. He dropped his pen on the desk, and glanced toward his scimitar hanging on the wall.

No. That was ridiculous. He didn’t need a weapon to face his ward.

_But you would need it against the Hero._

He rose to his feet, slowly, and folded his maps closed. Link wandered through songs at random, and this was probably an unhappy coincidence. Ganondorf would tell him not to play it, and that would be that. He opened the door, and stepped into the hall.

He stopped. Down the hall, the tinny notes strung together that loathsome refrain the royal family had mocked him with. In his study, the sword rested in its sheath. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and opened them again.

_He’s killed you at younger ages than he is now._

Ganondorf took the sword with him. He wasn’t going to use it. It was...just for his own peace of mind.

He found Link at his desk, intently testing the portable organ. He played a few more bars before looking up.

“Hey, Dad,” he signed. “What’s wrong?”

Link’s hair was still red, eyes still amber and guileless. There was none of the cold blankness in his face from previous lives, no weapons drawn, no attempt to guard his back.

Ganondorf let out a breath, and kept his voice carefully even.

“That song you were playing,” he said. “What was it?”

Link shrugged. “Nothing in particular. I was just thinking out loud.” He tilted his head. “Was there something important about it?”

“I must ask that you not play that tune again.”

Link’s brows knitted together. “Why?”

However Ganondorf turned the question over in his mind, he found no hint of suspicion, no viper lurking beneath the sands. No reason not to answer.

“It’s a traditional Hylian song.”

“Oh.” Link made an unhappy sound in his throat. “That’s too bad. Were you going to practice sparring again?”

“Excuse me?”

Link gestured to the sword at Ganondorf’s side. Its weight felt awkward and conspicuous now.

“If you do,” Link signed, “You’ll want to stay in the ruins this time. The cliff side doesn’t give any shade in the afternoon.”

He turned back to the organ, though his ears stayed pointed up to show he was listening. Ganondorf was left standing there, holding a blade he’d never needed in the first place, and certainly not to use against Link.

Honestly, he thought as he replaced the scimitar later, what had he been thinking? Link was about as hateful as a hummingbird, despite Ganondorf’s best efforts to turn him against the Hylians. If he didn’t hate them, he certainly wouldn’t turn against his supposed father. Especially not when they got along better than most real parents and children did.

Really, Ganondorf thought, he’d done a fine job of teaching Link to stay out of trouble.

* * *

“Boss! Link is in trouble!”

Ganondorf pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He set the map of supply lines down and glowered at the bokoblin who’d scurried into his study.

“You better have a good reason for interrupting me.”

“It’s the twerp,” she signed. “He’s fighting a molduga.”

“Fork. Have you been at the peyote again? Link doesn’t know how to fight.”

“That’s why I came to get you!”

“If this is a joke, I will blast you to the deepest pit of the abyss.”

He grabbed his scimitar, and strode out of the house, Fork following at his heels. He walked to the edge of Fort Ular, and surveyed the desert before them. Everything looked normal: the sky bright and blue, rocky ground reflecting the sun’s glare. To the north he could make out a caravan from Kara Kara, and to the south, a dust storm. Fork pointed towards it.

“There he is!”

“If he’s in danger, why did you leave him out there alone?”

“I can’t exactly stop him. I promise this isn’t a joke, boss.”

He glared at her one last time, then took off flying towards the storm. Fork squawked indignantly where he left her behind on the cliff.

On closer inspection, the dust storm wasn’t swirling in a typical pattern. It heaved and sank across the sand, impacts rippling through the air, choking Ganondorf’s breaths with the haze that lingered afterward. He hovered about forty feet in the air, old pain returning to his chest. If this was a molduga, then any second now—

A behemoth the size of a whale exploded from the sand, hurling rocks everywhere, and he had to dodge in midair to avoid getting struck. But as he did, he caught something in the corner of his eye. It was not a molduga. Not anymore. It was too massive, too skeletal for that. This was a molduking, and clinging to its spine was—

“Link!”

If Link heard, he didn’t answer. Not that he could: his hands were firm on his climbing gear, ropes taut around the molduking’s spikes to give him handholds as it thrashed and rolled around in the dirt. It bucked, and he would have gone flying if not for his tight grip.

The molduking dove back into the sand, hurling him towards the ground. Moments before impact, he let go, leapt from its bony ridge and tumbled across the earth. He grabbed his hiking stick and spun around to where the beast had disappeared.

“Link!” Ganondorf shouted, flying towards him. “Take my hand!”

Link glanced up, but the ground was already shaking again. Link dodged to the side before the molduking erupted once more. He ran across the sand towards a rocky outcropping, as the molduking launched itself through the air and slammed into the ground, kicking up another wave of dust, and Ganondorf could no longer see him.

Blast it all to the abyss. Link knew better than this—knew to stay away from this part of the desert. Sure, he’d killed tougher monsters than this, but not during this life. This time, he hadn’t so much as a weapon, never mind experience using it.

Fork came running to the edge of the dust storm, far enough to avoid getting targeted, and Ganondorf swooped down to her.

“Fork! Why did you let him go after that beast?”

“Have you met him? Nothing will keep the twerp out of somewhere he wants to be!”

“You’ve been watching him since he was two!”

“You’re the one who can _fly!”_

And he would have, if he could see Link, if Link would stay put, if the damn molduking wouldn’t crush one or both of them as he tried. He would have vaporized the beast on the spot, if the wound in his chest wasn’t bleeding his power dry.

The dust storm began to lift, just in time to spot Link standing on the rocks, hiking stick in hand, eyes fixed on the molduking barreling toward him.

“Run,” Ganondorf whispered. “Run, you fool, run!”

Link ran. He ran _toward_ the molduking. The molduking opened its maw, wide enough to swallow him whole—and Link slammed the stick into the rock, vaulted over its head and onto its back. He landed backwards astride its spine, snatched the ropes he’d tied around its spikes, and let out a whoop of triumph.

Ganondorf shook his head. Fork’s jaw hung open.

“Boss,” she signed with stuttering hands, “is that beast slowing down?”

It was. The molduking bucked several more times, but couldn’t send Link into the air. It dove beneath the earth, but burst forth more weakly, barely leaving the ground before it slammed down once more. Link didn’t need to pole-vault again: he simply grabbed the ropes hanging off the monster’s back and climbed on. The cycle repeated again.

The molduking was getting weaker. Link wasn’t. A bizarre and unreal feeling opened up in Ganondorf’s chest.

Hylians were small and fragile creatures. They lacked the hardiness of the Gorons, the strength of the Gerudo and Zora, or the agility and keen senses of the Rito. In a one-on-one fight between fresh combatants, the Hylian would almost always lose. But there was one advantage to Hylians’ small size that most people didn’t realize: they lost heat quickly. And in a desert hotter than Din’s fire, they could keep running long after other creatures had collapsed from exhaustion and overheating.

The molduking was powerful, but as it burst through the earth again and again, the sun bore down on it, hot on its dark grey scales. Its massive bulk, usually protected beneath the sands, slowed further. It panted, uselessly. After twenty minutes of lunging, burrowing, flailing, and snapping, it collapsed.

Link stood upon its back, and calmly tore off a scale the size of his own head. The beast twitched and groaned, but couldn’t rise to fight. He unlatched his ropes, hopped down, and retrieved his hiking stick. Then he strode calmly toward Ganondorf, equipment slung over his shoulder, as the dust and the dying molduking settled behind him.

Ganondorf had forbidden the boy from using weapons. He never imagined that Link wouldn’t need them.

Link came to a stop between Ganondorf and Fork, and gave them a small smile.

“Link,” Ganondorf said aloud. “You are _never_ doing that again.”

Link’s smile vanished. His hands were too full to sign, but he pointedly held up the scale.

“Irrelevant,” Ganondorf said. “From now on, you will be accompanied by Arrow and Sunshroom’s squads at all times, to make sure nothing _else_ dangerous happens to you.”

Link dropped the scale and climbing gear altogether.

“Dad, I’m okay. I _won._ You don’t have to do that.”

“Apparently I do.” Ganondorf added the signs to emphasize his words. “You put yourself at risk today. Besides that, you put Fork’s life at risk, and _mine,_ when we tried to help you.”

Link’s eyes widened, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Go back to Ular,” Ganondorf said. “Fork and I will catch up with you.”

Link grimaced. “It’s not her fault.”

“Her only punishment will be verbal. Now _go.”_

With that, some of the tension released from Link’s shoulders, and he picked up his things again. He gave them one last concerned look, but Fork nodded to him, and he departed. Once he was far enough ahead, Ganondorf pinned her with a glare.

“You should have stopped him.”

She grunted. “Why don’t _you_ try putting him in time-out, see how easy it is?”

He glowered at her and raised a finger up to her face. “I will send you back to the abyss.”

“No, you won’t. He likes me too much.”

Blasted creature. Ganondorf liked her better when he couldn’t understand her.

“Be that as it may,” he said, rubbing his forehead, “it no longer matters. Tell Sunshroom and Arrow’s squads to report for guarding him, starting this evening.”

“Boss,” she signed, “I know you’re worried, but there’s not much here more dangerous than a molduking. The twerp wasn’t even scratched.”

“Wrong.”

She squawked. “Wrong?”

“Obviously Link would be fine. Your job, and the guards’, is to keep him from getting into combat, or anything else that could turn him into a _Hero.”_

The last word came out as a snarl. He started walking, and Fork fell into step behind him. As they neared the cliff side, she grumbled wordlessly.

“Din’s sake,” he muttered, “what is it now?”

“We can’t stop him,” she signed. “Only redirect him sometimes.”

“Then _redirect_ him,” he snapped. “Use your brilliant little monster brains. Consider it an official order to the army, to protect him in any way necessary, physically or otherwise.”

Ganondorf strode to his study, and slammed the door behind him. He slumped against its frame, and closed his eyes. It had been foolish to think that keeping his boy away from weapons would be enough. Link was literally born to become the Hero—destined, _mandated_ to do so by the gods themselves. As such, he was also mandated to eventually turn on Ganondorf.

But Ganondorf had defied destiny before, and he, _they,_ would do it again.


	8. Aggrieved

Ganondorf was in his study, studying a map of Hyrule, when the sound of a thousand cannons erupted from the desert.

His minions didn’t _have_ cannons. It could only have come from the Hyrulean army, who shouldn’t have been anywhere nearby. But if they’d found him—if they’d found Fort Ular, the minions, _Link_ —

He ran outside, spelled himself invisible and surveyed the desert from the cliff. A vast cloud of smoke choked the ground below, and the screams of moblins, bokoblins, lizalfos pierced the air. There was a scattered, chaotic motion in the fog, but no way to tell who was doing what, or why.

Link was down there, somewhere in that cacophony.

The smoke cleared to reveal a regiment of soldiers smashing Ganondorf’s skeletal monsters to pieces, shattering the heads so they couldn’t reform, while the bodies of his other minions lay dead and dying around them. Hylians, Gorons, Gerudo, Rito—all wore the Hyrulean army’s colors.

A horn blared a signal, and the soldiers regrouped into formation. They counted off their numbers, and began marching away. Already it was too late for Ganondorf to command a counter-attack; not two minutes could have passed from the cannon-fire till now.

Somewhere from below came the faint pull of Link’s Triforce Mark. Link was alive. Ganondorf relaxed marginally, and landed upon the battlefield.

It was a massacre. From the greatest hinox to the tiny miniblin, their corpses lay in the sand, blood staining it deep red. The bodies were intact, left to rot beneath the scalding sun. But forget the minions. There was only one person he truly worried about.

He listened to the faint hum of his Triforce mark, and followed the morbid vista for nearly half a mile. The monsters had tried to retreat when they saw their disadvantage. The way the corpses lay, they’d been killed from behind, somehow. Killed protecting Link. Their blood drenched the sand, but no arrows or cannonballs were visible. Alongside the bodies was a large group of soldiers’ footprints. They’d come through here after felling Ganondorf’s troops, and followed the line of bodies.

The soldiers had gone in the same direction as Link.

The footprints and bodies passed by the boulder garden near the sparring grounds, before the minions’ footprints disappeared in another rocky patch, and the soldiers’ tracks returned the way they came. But the Triforce pull stopped near the boulders. Ganondorf wove between two of the rocks, to a metal plate hidden in the sand, and made a coded series of taps upon it. He dispelled the invisibility.

A hatch popped open in the earth, and Fork cautiously raised her head through the hole. She yelped in recognition and scurried out. After a long moment, Link poked his head up as well.

“Link!” Ganondorf kneeled beside him. “You’re alright?”

Link nodded, but didn’t look Ganondorf in the eye. He glanced around their surroundings, before climbing out and sitting against the rock. His face was pale, and he wrapped his arms around his knees, looking far younger than his age of seventeen years.

It was better not to approach him when he was like this. Touch or words would be additional demands on his energy. Instead, Ganondorf looked over his shoulder, toward the sand stained red behind him.

There hadn’t been enough time for scouts to alert him before it was over. Not that he’d sent any scouts: the minions weren’t supposed to engage the army for at least two or three more years, when all of his power had returned. But the Hyruleans had arrived, slaughtered the legion, pursued the survivors, and eventually marched away. Assuming there _were_ survivors, that is.

The soldiers would be back. Now that they knew his forces were out here, and beatable, the enemy would scour the area, and stop at nothing to wipe his army out. Or at least, they would if they had any brains. Which meant Fort Ular would be found quickly, if they hadn’t found it already.

He and Link needed to leave, and soon.

Link let out a grunt beside him. He raised his head, staring toward the horizon, face shrouded in numbness and despair. Was this how Ganondorf had looked centuries ago, when he found Varuq and the rest of her squadron strewn across the rocks, bodies left to be picked apart by vultures? Had he trembled where he stood, as Link did now?

When Ganondorf had gone through this, it had nearly broken him. He looked toward Link, who was cracking his knuckles, hunched in on himself.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Link shrugged, but otherwise didn’t respond. Fork crouched down in front of him.

“It’s over,” she signed. “They’re gone now.”

Link finally lifted up a hand.

“Gone,” he repeated. “Yeah, they...” He gestured toward the massacre. “They’re gone.”

“But you’re safe.”

“Arrow and Sunshroom are dead,” he signed listlessly.

A small whine erupted from her throat.

“They died for me,” he signed. “They’re dead, and all I did was hide.”

Ganondorf let out a heavy breath, and returned to Link’s side.

“It was an honorable way to go. Every warrior’s purpose is to protect the ones they love.”

“That wasn’t war,” Link responded, movements sharp. “We weren’t _doing_ anything. Everyone was minding their business—Junky was weaving ropes, Wart was cooking, Arrow and I were making spider jokes—” His hands shook almost too badly to sign. “It was all so _normal_.”

“I know,” Ganondorf signed.

“It was all normal until _they_ happened.” Link grimaced. “They didn’t care. They just started— _pshoh_!” He mimicked the explosive sound Ganondorf had heard earlier. “They started killing people who weren’t hurting anyone.”

Despite himself, despite Link sitting perfectly unhurt beside him, Ganondorf winced. He never thought he’d have to protect Link from the Hyruleans.

He lay a hand on Link’s shoulder. Link tensed, but didn’t reject the contact.

“That’s Hyrule,” Ganondorf said. “That’s how they maintain their power.”

Link let out a frustrated noise, and shook his head.

“But the soldiers—they all agreed to it? They _wanted_ to do that?”

“They don’t particularly care. To those so-called _civilized_ races,” Ganondorf spat the word, “Arrow, Sunshroom and Fork aren’t people. And you and I are little better, in their eyes.”

Link glared at the field for a long time, before his shoulders slumped, and he sighed.

“I knew they were supposed to protect me,” he signed, “but I didn’t think they’d die.”

Ganondorf crossed his arms, and lowered his head.

“They did their duty on the front line.”

“I don’t want them to do their duty if it means they get killed.” Link pressed his hands to his face, exhaled, and signed again. “I don’t want anybody to die because of me.”

“Listen to me,” Ganondorf said. “It was because of the Hyrulean government. Not you. It is the Hylian royal family, and their army, whom you should blame.”

Ironically, for all his efforts, the princess and her soldiers made a better case against Hyrule than _he_ ever could.

Link’s eyes flickered to the battlefield. Slowly, his face twisted into a deep and painful frown.

“Dad?” he signed. “What did you do when Varuq died?”

Ganondorf shut his eyes against his will. It was an ancient memory, but no less vivid. He hadn’t eaten for days, constantly on the run from Hylians looking to capture him, and to use his fate to break the spirit of the other clans. He barely managed to find water. When he finally reconvened with the few surviving tribes, he discovered he’d been running for nothing. The last commanders had surrendered to the Hylians out of desperation.

In the end, he’d gone to the wastelands, to the pit spoken of in hushed voices, and never by its true name. And at the bottom of the pit, he, who had been betrayed by gods, found a dying shadow.

“I swore an oath,” he said, gazing out across the reddened sand. “I vowed to pursue justice against Hyrule for as long as I lived.”

It was an even trade: a portion of magic, in exchange for pursuing vengeance for both of them. And so he’d practiced that magic, cultivated it, and twenty years later he’d slithered into the Hyrulean capital—and failed.

Mostly.

He had managed to grab just enough of the Triforce to prevent the Hero from killing him permanently.

He glanced towards Link, whose lips had pressed into a thin line.

“That’s why you learned to summon the monsters,” Link signed. “You wanted to protect people.”

“Something like that.”

That had been his intention at first. But there was little left to protect, after his people’s descendants bent their knees to the conquerors, and forsook honor for security.

Link slumped. He let out a long, tired breath. Ganondorf gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“Fork, stay with him. I need to examine the site of battle more thoroughly.”

For once, Fork made no argument, but nodded and sat at Link’s side.

Ganondorf returned to study the massacre. Most of the bodies had fallen close together, strewn over their campsite and training field, their tools scattered around them. Oddly, nearly all the non-skeletal monsters were intact, with no slashed stomachs or severed limbs to be seen. The ones that _were_ skeletal had been smashed from above, leaving heavy rocks half-buried in the ground. The Rito must have lent the Hylians their wings.

On closer inspection, his minions’ bodies been punctured by small but deep holes, as if a thousand pebbles had been flung at incredibly high speed. He found a few such stones scattered across the ground.

“Fork,” he called, examining one. “How many survived?”

Fork scurried over, and rubbed her forehead.

“Keese, mainly,” she signed. “And the faster lizalfos.”

He groaned, and his fingers clenched tight around the pebble. “I can’t take Hyrule with bats and lizards.”

“Maybe a wizzrobe?”

“Didn’t any of the squads flee when they saw they were outmatched?”

“ _No_ ,” she signed, barking for emphasis. “Not when the soldiers went after the twerp.”

Ganondorf grimaced, and switched to sign so Link wouldn’t overhear.

“They thought he was a captive.”

“No,” Fork repeated. “They mistook him for _you.”_

Ganondorf’s blood froze in his veins. He lifted his chin, and glowered at her.

“Impossible. I go to Kara Kara all the time, and _I_ don’t get recognized for myself anymore.”

She grunted, and kicked a bone away from her feet. “You ever gone while surrounded by the legions of evil?”

He scowled. By the boulders, Link was staring numbly out at the horizon. Brown skin, Gerudo-red hair. He was too short and slight-framed for anyone acquainted with Ganondorf to confuse the two. But details could be forgotten in three hundred years, and if the princess had been looking for Ganondorf…

An unfamiliar ache twisted in his stomach. Not the burning pain left by the Master Sword. This was cold, and rotten, and grew worse when he looked at Link. Ganondorf shoved the ache down, and studied the pebble in his hand.

Hundreds of years ago, the Hylians had fought with slings as well as bows, and rocks were a common form of ammunition. But slings were phased out for their difficulty of use, and these rocks didn’t look right: they were all cylindrical, and made of the same metal, which made no sense for sling ammunition. Nor did slings explain the booming sounds.

Link scraped himself up from the dirt, and came up beside them.

“Can I help?”

He was still pale, and his hands shook, but his gaze was sharp.

“Perhaps,” Ganondorf replied. “I know that the past hour has been difficult for you. But can you describe to me in detail what happened?”

Link frowned, and tapped his chin with one finger, thinking.

“It was strange,” he signed. “We spotted the soldiers, and everyone got out their weapons. Fork dragged me to the back, so I didn’t get the clearest view. But I know they used something that created a lot of smoke and explosions, and it could kill people from far away.” He swallowed, and his eyes fell upon Arrow’s body lying in the dirt. “They took down most of us without approaching.”

“Goron fire,” Ganondorf muttered. That was the sole weapon that caused so much noise and smoke. But Goron fire exploded too readily, endangering the user as much as the target. To use it hundreds of times at once was suicide.

Link knelt down where Arrow and Sunshroom lay, and removed the iron rings from their claws: a wedding gift he and Fork had made for them years before. He signed an apology, and a prayer to the Seven Heroines to watch over their souls. But as he glanced upward, he froze.

A Rito scout was circling overhead.

Blast it all. Ganondorf could turn invisible—but he couldn’t pass that on to Link or Fork. If they waited for the Rito to depart, another would probably take its place. Even if they lost their watcher, it would be a temporary reprieve before the Hyruleans returned to scour the desert.

“We are going back to Ular,” Ganondorf said. “We’ll pack or destroy everything we don’t want the Hylians to find. And when night falls, we are going to leave.”

Link’s eyes widened. “We’re leaving _home?_ To where?”

“I have a townhouse in the Hylian capital.”

Link hissed. “You can’t seriously want—”

“It’s already furnished, and no one will question me for using my own house.”

Link’s face twisted up, and he swallowed.

“What about the other survivors?”

“I’ll send orders for them to disperse across the countryside and stay away from towns. They will concentrate in canyons, forests and other regions of low visibility, to negate whatever strategy the Hylians used today.”

He began striding back toward the base. Link hesitated, glancing at their stalker, before he and Fork hurried to catch up.

They ascended the cliff side under the Rito’s watchful eye. For the first time in fifteen years, Ular was silent and motionless. The plaza still smelled of slow-roasted peccary from this morning’s hunt. The curtains fluttered in the doorway of Sunshroom and Arrow’s little pink house, never to be drawn back again. Link craned his neck all around them, as if soaking up the murals, the rock-carvings, the chalk-outline of an eagle that would never be filled in.

Not a speck of blood marred the stucco walls, but the emptiness pressed upon them like a shroud.

Ganondorf returned home and took out his suitcases. He would need years to rebuild his forces to their previous strength, and it would be riskier now that the Hylians knew to look for him. They’d comb the desert, and the rest of Hyrule posed threats of its own. Nowhere was isolated enough, not in this era of road-networks and bird-people.

The bigger question was _how_ the Hylians had managed to kill so quickly and efficiently. The rock-dropping strategy of the Rito was obvious, but the metal pellets weren’t. To prevent today’s disaster from repeating itself, he needed to identify the weapons and tactics the Hylian army used.

Then there was the risk his work posed to Link. Not that Ganondorf would _stop_ his work, but he hadn’t raised the boy for fifteen years only to lose him now.

In his study, he gathered all his plans for conquest and most precious books on magic. The rest could be replaced. He was sorting through his other possessions when Link appeared in the doorway, roll of paper under one arm.

“I want to help you fight Hyrule.”

Ganondorf stared at him. If not for the grief choking the air, he would have laughed at the irony. After everything he’d tried, it was the Hylians themselves who made their Hero turn against them.

“Link,” he signed, “we’ve been over this. I don’t want you to be in any more danger than—”

In response, Link unfurled the paper, revealing the picture of him, Ganondorf, Fork, and Varuq. He tapped Varuq’s face, then set the picture down.

“I know I’m a boy,” he signed. “But you couldn’t sit on the sidelines after your family was killed, either.”

He couldn’t, and hadn’t. Not when sitting out would mean his people had died for nothing. Not when it meant the perpetrators could rewrite history to their liking, and grow rich from his people’s misery. Not when he’d been forced to stay out already, and couldn’t bear to be useless anymore.

He looked into his son’s eyes, Hylian blue overwritten by amber, and in there, Ganondorf saw himself as a young man.

“Start packing,” he said. “We leave for the capital tonight.”


	9. Newcomer

They left in the early hours of morning. Ganondorf turned himself invisible, and cast a glamour to give Fork the size and appearance of a mouse. He hadn’t enough magic remaining for Link, but they managed to lose their tail in Kara Kara. Over the next week, they blended in with the other travelers en route from the desert, through the plains, and onward to the capital.

The journey took them up a channel of the Hylia-Jabu River that hadn’t existed in Ganondorf’s last life. The Hylians had carved out new branches for it, enabling fast water trade from central Hyrule to Zorana and Faron. Zora swam in walled-off lanes near the banks, while further out from shore quick merchant clippers breezed over the water. The largest vessels, including passenger barges, floated in the river’s center.

At the prow of one such barge stood Link. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the river since boarding, even as the rest of the passengers went inside the cabin to eat, drink and gamble.

“More water than you’ve ever seen in your life, isn’t it?” Ganondorf said, joining him on the deck.

Link shrugged, and kept looking out toward the shore. He fiddled with Arrow and Sunshroom’s rings, clinking them together on a string around his neck. His face had returned to its old blankness, the inscrutable neutrality that had once irked Ganondorf so much, but this time Ganondorf recognized what it was.

Grief.

He let out a long breath, and clasped his hands behind his back. The river glittered before them, sunlight reflecting like a million tiny knives, air choked with water-spray and the murmur of drunken passengers.

“It will be an adjustment,” he said. “For both of us.”

Link hummed. His eyes drifted down to the ripples streaming out below them, and he wrapped his cloak tighter around himself. A tiny squeak came out. He loosened the collar enough for Fork to poke her head through.

“There are merchants from all over the world in the capital,” Ganondorf signed. “You can find new materials, build things you couldn’t in Ular.”

Link grunted, one hand absently patting Fork’s head.

“They have music shops,” Ganondorf continued, “and bookstores. You could buy all the books you wanted, about anything you like.”

Link finally jerked to him. “I can’t buy back my _friends.”_

Ganondorf could physically feel the Master Sword in his heart again. As soon as the sentence was out, Link’s eyes widened, and he smacked his forehead.

“Sorry. I know—” His hands paused. “I know you’re trying to help.”

His gaze dropped to the waves below, and his hand drew to his necklace, spinning the rings again and again between his fingers.

No words could make this better, not in any language. But his son was wilting from a wound Ganondorf had never meant to give, and he had to do _something_ for his own peace of mind.

He reached out, slowly in case Link needed to step away, and lay an arm across his shoulders. Link tensed, but swallowed, and leaned against his side. They watched the shore go by in silence, forests giving way to farms and towns as they neared the Hylian capital.

Every few minutes, a Rito flew by, far overhead.

The river channel continued into the capital itself. A new round of stone walls had been erected, with a colossal archway over the water, and a mechanical portcullis looming over their heads. Beyond, the river split into two, one side branching off into an artificial lake, dotted with trees and flowers around its edge. Presumably, that was where the Zora stayed. The barge followed the other branch, toward the city docks.

They retrieved their bags and stepped onto the pier. Link pulled his hood over his head and kept his face blank. He softened briefly as he petted Fork through the fabric on his shoulder. She poked her head out of his hood from time to time, but otherwise stayed hidden in its folds.

The docks opened up into what Ganondorf assumed was the newest quarter of town. Granted, “newest” meant nearly a century old, but he’d never seen channels built to accommodate Zora before, or the open-air nests of the Rito looking out over the roofs. The doors were tall and wide, with handles at two different heights, but that was nothing new. The Gerudo and Goron residents had integrated long ago.

Link stuck close by his side as they walked, and with every passer-by, his mouth grew tighter, shoulders more hunched. His eyes darted at every noise—which, in a city this crowded, was constantly. In Kara Kara, he kept to himself, but he hadn’t withdrawn this much in years.

A carriage would have been more convenient. But this was an opportunity to scope out the city Ganondorf would rule one day, and if Link could kill a molduking, he could handle this.

Some years ago, Ganondorf had crafted a fake identity under the name of Gandor Koumein. (No one had ever accused him of being too creative.) With it, he’d bought the townhouse, to help smuggle the pipe organ to Ular. The house sat at the top of a hill, close to Market Square and not far from Hyrule Castle itself. That would make privacy more difficult, thanks to merchants, tradesmen, customers and animals coming through the street below throughout the day. But the location made it easy to gather information and resources, and to survey the rest of the city from above. More importantly, it was close to Hyrule Castle, the military headquarters, and the Sheikah Center.

He led Link and Fork up massive sets of stairs, and they passed into the older neighborhoods. As they ascended, the architecture became more traditionally Hylian: narrow streets, small doors, sharp-angled roofs unsuitable for flying tenants.

Not that the other races weren’t there. Ganondorf must have heard five different languages in five minutes. He even spotted a few Gorons signing. Granted, Gorons ranked slightly above rocks in his estimation of companions, but it could be useful if Link didn’t have to rely on writing to communicate with others.

Then Ganondorf arrived in Market Square itself, and froze, pedestrians streaming around him.

Two bronze statues, each twenty feet tall, stood back to back in the plaza’s center. One was of a crowned woman serenely extending her hand to the heavens. The other, a young man, looked ready to lunge with his sword. Ganondorf barely recognized the princess, but the Hero looked almost identical to Link.

He tore his eyes away from the statue. It was in the past, and that’s where it would stay.

“Link, have you—”

He stared at the street behind him. Link had disappeared.

“Ahem!”

A violet-feathered Rito stood before him, and gestured meaningfully to the thick crowd streaming around them.

“Some of us have places to go!” he snapped. “Do you mind?”

Ganondorf scowled, but stepped out of the main thoroughfare. When he took over, he’d clip this one’s wings. But for now he had bigger things to worry about.

He couldn’t see Link anywhere. Fortunately, he didn’t need to. The Triforce mark on Link’s hand remained invisible, and Link didn’t remember it. But the magical pull of Farore had only grown stronger with time. It was now joined by Nayru’s mark—no surprise, as they were now in the princess’ city. But that was for much later.

Ganondorf followed the pull back the way he came. He ducked into a side street, then another, and found Link sitting against a wall with his eyes shut and hands over his ears. Fork waved to Ganondorf from her perch on Link’s shoulder.

He couldn’t keep the worry out of his voice. “Link?”

Link made a noise, but didn’t look up.

“He’s overwhelmed,” Fork signed. “Too many things happening at once.”

Well, damn. Link hadn’t shut down this badly in years, not since his first trip to Kara Kara. But then, he’d probably encountered more people in this afternoon than he had in his entire life.

Ganondorf sighed, and sat down opposite Link, lip curling at the grime that got on his trousers. This time, he didn’t try to reach out. If Link were hiding himself this far, his attention was exhausted, and attempting to interact would only pain him further.

It took several long minutes before Link uncovered his ears. When he did, he cracked his knuckles several times before looking up.

“Sorry,” he signed.

“For what?”

“Slowing us down.” He swallowed. “We probably could’ve been there by now.”

“The townhouse can wait,” Ganondorf signed. “Your well-being is what matters. _I_ am sorry, for putting you through this.”

At that, Link scratched his neck and looked away.

Ganondorf said aloud, “Are you alright?”

Link gave him a dead-eyed look. Okay, Ganondorf had earned that.

“Are _you_ alright?” Link countered.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Link fumbled a sign, something he hadn’t done since childhood. He tried again.

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

Ganondorf raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t what hurt?”

Link looked baffled. “You don’t feel it?”

“Feel _what?”_

“Everything!” He threw up his hands. “There’s too much of everything here. People. Movement. Noise.”

“You play a pipe organ,” Ganondorf signed. “I would think you were used to noise.”

Link grimaced. “It’s the wrong _kind of_ noise.”

Ganondorf tilted his head toward the street, and listened. Perhaps it was the randomness of the sound that bothered Link? Or the way it was unrelenting, yet hard to anticipate? Whatever it was, it seemed to give Link genuine pain.

Come to think of it, Ganondorf hadn’t met the Hero in a populated city in previous lifetimes. Abandoned cities and other battlefields, yes—but never in the middle of a loud, thriving urban center like this. There might be a reason for that.

They were a good distance away from the townhouse, and Ganondorf didn’t know the streets well enough to risk taking a back route. He wasn’t about to leave Link alone, either.

“I’ll hire a coach,” he signed. “It will be loud, but away from the people.”

Link nodded. “Thanks.”

He was still rattled when they arrived at their destination—physically as well as mentally, thanks to the rough ride over the paving stones. The townhouse was a squat two-story wedged between a Hylian smithy and a Gerudo clothier. It was smaller than the homestead at Ular, but furnished with genuine glass windows, a large fireplace, and oak furniture covered in a fine layer of dust. The couches, tables, beds and shelves sufficed to pass it off as a “home” in case government officials stopped by, but it lacked the pipe organ, the safflina and indigo flowers on the windowsills, and even Link’s disgusting jar collection that Ganondorf never thought he’d miss. The stone walls and floors were cold, though they arrived in summertime, and when Ganondorf shut the door behind them, it echoed, loud and empty.

Link listened long enough for Ganondorf to show him the parlor, the kitchen, and the bedroom on the second floor, which Link immediately claimed. He bolted upstairs and hid under a thick blanket of Tabanthan furs, as if to get as far from the city as possible.

Ganondorf couldn’t blame him. But if the capital and mourning were affecting him this much, he wasn’t ready to assist Ganondorf’s conquest of Hyrule. That was alright: he needed the time to recover, and Ganondorf had always pursued his plans alone.

He already knew where to start: the army training grounds. If the strange technology that killed his troops was anywhere, it would be there.

* * *

The next day, Ganondorf flew invisibly over the city and surveyed it from above. It was well-defended, with large concentric walls, and Rito guards patrolling from the air at all times. Had his legion been intact, they would have struggled to take it in a traditional siege or battle. In an extreme case he might have to use the Belgorath, but a simple investigation first should give him more to work with.

He searched for the military training grounds, and found them beyond the city walls, near construction work for an upcoming festival. The soldiers weren’t using any equipment that Ganondorf hadn’t seen before. Useless.

Wait a second. If _he_ were developing a weapon in secret, in a city where many residents could fly, where would he test it?

Underground. Even a cannon could be muffled if the dirt above it was thick enough.

If any buildings in this city had underground passageways, they would most likely be the castle, the military headquarters, or the Sheikah Center. The Sheikah in particular would have the most cutting-edge technology and magic.

He didn’t need long to find the Center, halfway between the Library of Hyrule and the military headquarters, and close to Hyrule Castle. It was a drab block of concrete in an otherwise colorful and chaotic city, as if to reveal nothing from the outside. The roof was flat, but too small to rehearse battle formations, and it was surrounded by university grounds and civilians.

He flew lower and examined it up close. The compound was a dull stone grey, three stories high, with armed lookouts posted every twenty feet along the upper decks. Most of them looked Hylian. But other races filled their ranks as well: Gorons, Rito, even Zora. Three hundred years ago, they would have been arrested on the spot for such an insult. And it was hard to imagine Gorons being stealthy, or the Sheikah allowing non-Hylians into their ranks.

He shook his head. That could be investigated later. For now, he needed to find the weapons they used against him.

The doors to the first floor were locked, but there was an open one near a Rito guard on an upper level. He landed silently and strolled inside.

The interior was as ugly as the outside, a series of straight, spartan hallways with more doors labeled in Sheikah script. Apparently, this level held conference rooms, accounting, and administration. Most rooms were locked, or filled with people doing paperwork, but one of them gave him pause.

A Gerudo woman and a Goron were speaking in low voices, with a black suit of unknown material splayed out on a table between them. The Goron was dressed normally: that was to say, with a loincloth, and a scarf bearing the Sheikah eye. The Gerudo wore her people’s traditional battle-armor, but in the colors of Hylian royalty. She, too, had a Sheikah scarf, and several of their emblems upon her breastplate.

_Traitor._

“I said it’s fine, Daruk,” she said, fingers ghosting over the shiny fabric. “I’m glad you’re safe. How did the magmasuit fare in the latest round of tests?”

The Goron rubbed the back of his head.

“Well,” he drawled out the word, “the suit was good.”

The Gerudo cocked her head.

“But?”

“It’s the heat and pressure that’s the problem.” He tapped a fist to his chest. “Although the fabric holds, whoever’s inside will get boiled alive.”

“Heat is manageable. We have tattoos and tonics to counter it.”

“Well, that’s something,” he said. “Do you got anything that’ll keep a thousand tons of rock from crushing the wearer?”

She crossed her arms, and her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Hey,” said the Goron. “Don’t worry about it! The mantle mines will take a few more years, that’s all.”

She shook her head. “If Calatia keeps this up, we might not have a few more years.”

“You worry too much, Urbosa.” He stepped around the table and clapped a massive hand on her back. “What was that drink you wanted me to try? A novel for soot?”

“Noble pursuit,” she said, cracking a smile. “If you can stand to eat something not made of rocks.”

The conversation devolved into comparing alcoholic beverages, and Ganondorf moved on. The magmasuit would be useless outside of volcanic regions, but he’d have to look into Calatia more deeply. It wouldn’t do for someone else to conquer Hyrule before he did.

He explored the corridors, passing Sheikah agents of all species along the way. In the center of the floor stood a winding staircase and Goron-accessible ramp. He took the stairs down as low as they would go—which, it turned out, was much more than three floors deep.

Finally, at the bottom of the steps, he came to a heavy metal door labeled “Research and Development.” Ganondorf smiled, melted the lock with fire magic, and walked in.

He promptly got a bucket of bright turquoise paint dumped on his head.

A high-pitched alarm sounded from above.

“Code Korok!” The Gerudo woman’s voice echoed through the compound, coming as if from all directions. “I repeat, Code Korok!”

His body and clothes were invisible, as per his magic, but the paint on him was _not._ Damn Hylians—no, not just Hylians anymore. He had to get out.

Footsteps pounded from above. He ducked into the shadowy hollow at the bottom of the staircase, only for the paint to grow brighter. The blasted gunk glowed in the dark.

He flew up, which made him no less visible, but enabled him to dodge the guards pouring down the steps. Several Rito tried to tackle him mid-air, but a fireball to the face shook them off. He soared to the top level and sped through the halls, Sheikah in hot pursuit.

He threw a fire-blast from his hands to slow them down. More Sheikah came to intercept him, and he had to blast each new group of combatants in turn, using far more magic than he’d anticipated. The Gerudo woman—the traitor—managed to grab him, and nearly ran him through with her scimitar before he turned his arm into smoke to slip from her iron grip. The paint burned where he’d changed his flesh. The blasted Sheikah must have enchanted it to resist magic. By the time he ran out the exit, he barely had the energy to lift off into the air.

Then they start firing arrows at him.

Electrified arrows.

Ganondorf was not having a good day.

“Code Korok!” shouted a violet-feathered Rito overhead. “Code Korok!”

The call echoed across the sky, and every Rito flying over the capital turned to gawk. Several dozen stopped what they were doing and dive-bombed him.

Ganondorf was really getting sick of those birds.

He flew faster than they could, but they came from all sides, and as long as the paint showed they could follow him anywhere. He had to get it off first, or he’d lead them to his real identity. His eye caught the docks at the bottom of the city.

He dove, falling as much as flying, and plunged into the water.

With scrapes and thrashes, he managed to get most of the paint off, so it left him in only _moderate_ agony when he turned into his smoke form to evade the Rito circling overhead and the Zora swimmers who approached out of curiosity. For the next hour, he played the waiting game, drifting along the currents away from where he’d dropped in, and contemplating what had gone wrong.

Luminous stone, endemic to Zora architecture. Dye, found everywhere in Hylian clothing and art. The Hylians and Zora had combined their knowledge to make a paint that glowed in the dark, and the Sheikah engineers crafted it into an anti-invisibility alarm. It would have been admirable, if said invisible person hadn’t been Ganondorf.

He’d underestimated the Hylians—no, the _Hyruleans_. They combined the skills and resources of five different species, and advanced faster in the past century than in the previous eight all put together. They slaughtered his army, traumatized his son, detected his magic and stopped his infiltration in its tracks.

He thought of Urbosa, who wore the colors of his wife’s murderers, and his lips twisted in a snarl.

They’d taken his people from him a second time.


	10. Spy

They hung the drawing of Varuq in the parlor, a small blot of color on plaster-white walls. The townhouse was livable, but had the personality of a particularly dull rock.

Link’s new room was cleaner, neater, and by most people’s standards, infinitely more comfortable than his old one. But it lacked the piles of mysterious tools, the dubious taste in books, and the collection of things that should not have been pickled and kept in jars. The few possessions that made it _Link’s_ room were the climbing ropes and hooks he’d brought with him, and he had no use for them in a city.

Even so, he hid in that room for two weeks before finally coming down to Ganondorf’s study.

“I’d like to help.”

Ganondorf looked up from his new textbook about Calatia.

“You can put together the bookcase that should be arriving this afternoon.”

“No, I want to help you fight against Hyrule.”

Ganondorf’s brow creased. “Knowing that you’re safe is helpful enough.”

“It’s not enough for me,” Link signed. “We’re close to the Sheikah center and military headquarters. I bet I could find the weapon that killed Arrow and Sunshroom.”

Images of red-soaked sands and charging moldukings flashed through Ganondorf’s mind.

“Absolutely not. The security is too tight, and as soon as they found you, they’d kill you.”

“ _If_ they found me.”

Ganondorf rubbed his forehead. “Arrow and Sunshroom didn’t save your life so you could throw it away a month later.”

Link winced. “I’m not asking to become a warrior. I just want to go out and make a difference.”

“You are welcome to go out with my supervision.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Ganondorf’s frown deepened, and he recalled the pale face and stuttering hands from their first day in the city.

“You know that crowds are difficult for you.”

Link glanced away for a moment, then shrugged. “I’ll go out at night, when it’s quieter.”

“You are _not_ going outside at night in a city full of Hylians.”

“Then in the daytime?”

“Again, only with my presence.”

Link sighed, and his face returned to the numb, neutral expression he’d worn for the past two weeks. It hurt to see, but it was better than Link’s life being endangered again.

“If nothing else,” Ganondorf said, “do it for _my_ peace of mind. Ular happened less than a month ago.”

Link responded with a small hum, and turned to leave. He’d return to his too-neat, too-tidy room, alone without books or tools or vile things in jars to distract him from his thoughts. There was nowhere else he _could_ go.

“Link,” Ganondorf called.

Link stopped, blank face looking over his shoulder.

“Tomorrow morning,” Ganondorf said, “I’m going to Market Square to acquire a set of maps. If you wish, you can join me and practice tolerating crowds of people.”

Link bit his lip. He thought for a moment, then nodded.

“I won’t let you down.”

Ganondorf’s voice softened. “You never do.”

* * *

“I see your son has excellent taste,” the Goron cartographer said.

Ganondorf wrapped his furled-up maps together in twine. His boy was at the front of the shop, hunched over a slender wooden tube perched on a tripod, its length half as tall as he was. At Ganondorf’s call, he jerked up and clasped his hands behind his back.

The Goron laughed. “No need to be shy! Try pointing it at the window and peering through the small end.”

Link frowned, and glanced to Ganondorf for permission before doing as the cartographer said. Ganondorf raised an eyebrow, but nodded. After a moment of looking through the tube, Link let out an audible “Oh!”

“It’s called a telescope,” the cartographer said. “Just invented, by a brother in my province! With this, your eyes will be as sharp as a Rito’s.”

Ganondorf tested it himself. A cute little toy, though pointless for a man who could fly and turn invisible. But Link couldn’t leave it alone, constantly adjusting the lens focus and angling it at objects near and far. He looked up at Ganondorf with hopeful eyes.

Ganondorf wound up spending a lot more rupees than he expected that morning. But Link beamed and clutched the telescope to his chest, smiling for the first time since Ular.

They left the shop, and Link fell into step beside him. The gesture reminded Ganondorf of the teenage warriors from his old tribe, who stuck close to their captains because they didn’t yet have the nerve to advance on their own. But that had been swept away like so much sand, and Link needed to get used to interacting with people.

The streets were quieter in the deep shadows of morning. At this hour, Link could pass a dozen people on the street instead of hundreds, and block out two carts rumbling over the cobblestones instead of ten. He pulled the hood forward, blocking out most of his peripheral vision. It wouldn’t do him much good if a pickpocket was lurking about, but it was better than refusing to walk through crowds at all.

At some point he disappeared from Ganondorf’s side. Ganondorf found him several yards back, staring at the display of an upscale shop. In the window were mirrors of various sizes, colors and frames. He was studying his reflection in one, a pensive look on his face. At least this time, his boy had stopped out of curiosity, rather than overwhelming stress.

They never had a proper mirror at Ular. Too many things could go wrong with mirrors and magic in the same space. And since Ganondorf’s own face was disguised under a glamour, he had no need to check his reflection. A pool of water would do the job, but nobody would leave a large pool out in the desert where it could evaporate.

Link was still staring at the mirror. His hand rose, unconsciously, and fiddled with his red hair. This was probably the first time he had ever gotten a clear image of himself. An image of his own face, but not his hair or eye colors.

His brow furrowed, ever so slightly, and Ganondorf tensed.

“Link!”

Link’s false amber eyes darted up, and he returned to Ganondorf’s side. He kept a thoughtful expression on his face as they resumed walking.

“Dad?” he signed. “Do I really look like...” He gestured to his face.

The tension coiled tighter in Ganondorf’s gut, but outwardly, he kept his face calm, and his hands perfectly steady.

“As opposed to what?”

Link shrugged. “Don’t know.”

His hands dropped to his sides, and they turned down a larger street, dodging food carts and summersmoke cigar vendors. Across the road, the first Rito messengers of the day were arriving at the post office. A Zora woman was herding children to mixed-race school, two Gorons offered rock-roast samples for their cafe, and Hylian criers advertised work on the Faronese Canal.

“You’re nearly an adult,” Ganondorf signed. “You’ll look different from how you did as a child.”

Link grunted, and tugged his hood forward again. He moved a little closer.

“And as an adult,” Ganondorf signed, “you must be able to do business on your own. I know you don’t like the city, but—”

Link grabbed his hand. He pulled it down, and kept walking, eyes straight ahead.

Ganondorf stared, half from shock and half from offense. For Link, this was the equivalent of slapping his hand over someone’s mouth to make them shut up.

“ _Link,”_ he warned, and tried to pull away.

Link gripped his hand tighter, keeping it down with a surprising amount of force, refusing to look at him directly. Ganondorf opened his mouth to upbraid him, when he noticed something odd.

Link’s other hand was tapping an organ melody against his thigh. Specifically, it was the tight, nervous chorus of the “Refugee Chorale.” One of Link’s least favorite songs that Ganondorf had taught him. Ganondorf looked up again to ask him about it, and Link was watching him with a blank face that didn’t match the song’s tone at all. At the eye contact, Link nodded almost imperceptibly.

Ganondorf kept his mouth shut, watching Link. Link made no further signals to him, but as they walked, he pulled them off the route home and down several side-streets, and into an unnervingly dark alley. There, Link finally let go.

“Stay by the wall,” he signed. _“Please.”_

Ganondorf raised his hands to argue, but the hard glint in Link’s eyes gave him pause. They both moved to the wall, in the deepest shadow of the alley. Link’s demeanor shifted. His footfalls became silent, his face taut, his motions fluid and almost imperceptible. He crept to the mouth of the alley like a viper preparing to bite.

A half-minute of nothing slunk by, before the shadow of a Hylian appeared. It grew long in the faint morning light, drawing closer step by step until it was almost in front of them. Its owner must have been standing around the corner, separated from Link by six inches of stone.

A head poked round, and Link slammed it with the telescope. The Hylian man stumbled forward, dagger dropping from his fingers. Link yanked him into the alley and shoved him face-down against the stones before pulling out a length of rope and tying his wrists together. The man groaned.

Ganondorf stared. The cold brutality of the act looked nothing like the boy he’d raised. But it looked an awful lot like the Hero killing a bokoblin.

_Was fifteen years enough to make you forget?_

Link rifled through the man’s pockets, finding a key, rupee-purse, and a squashed yellow fruit. He wiped the telescope off in the folds of the man’s tunic. The man twitched, but wouldn’t be getting up any time soon.

Ganondorf snapped his fingers to get Link’s attention.

“Where did you learn to do that?”

A grim half-smile appeared on Link’s face, and he set the telescope aside. “Moblin wrestling.”

Ganondorf couldn’t decide if the mental images for that were amusing or alarming, so he set them aside to focus on the matter at hand.

“A Rito could have seen you.”

Link pointed up. The brick row houses huddled almost on top of each other, roofs overlapping and blocking the view to the sky. No wonder the alley was so dark: Link must have sought it out for precisely this purpose. Impressive.

“How did you know we were being followed?”

Link tapped his ear through his hood.

“Repetitive footsteps,” he signed. “Weren’t getting closer or farther. Stopped when we stopped, moved when we moved.”

He observed Link closely as they returned home. Link needed to duck into side-streets twice more to ground himself, especially as the roads grew crowded, but he remained calm and alert. He retraced their footsteps easily, already learning to navigate, and Ganondorf started to understand how the Hero had infiltrated his fortresses in previous lives.

Vigilance. Agility. Sound judgment, paired with remorseless efficiency. He would have made a fantastic Gerudo warrior.

They returned home without further incident, and Ganondorf stopped him at the base of the stairs.

“About our conversation this morning,” he said. “I may have been overly cautious.”

Link’s eyebrows shot up, telescope dangling in his hand.

“I have a way for you to get justice for Arrow and Sunshroom,” Ganondorf said. “If you can be as cautious as you were today.”

“I’m always cautious,” Link signed. “What’s the idea?”

In response, he held up the maps, and led Link to his study.

“The moblins and bokoblins shouldn’t have fallen so quickly,” he said, putting most of the maps away. “Hyrule must have developed a weapon the world has never seen before. If we can determine what it was, we’ll be prepared to protect others from the same fate as your friends.”

He lay the final map on his desk, and unrolled it to reveal an aerial view of the capital.

“These are the guard posts around the city.” He pointed to different spots on the map. “And here is the center for Sheikah technology development. If the designs or prototypes for the new weapon are anywhere, they’ll be there.”

Link leaned forward, brows furrowing as he studied the diagrams.

“You want me to grab them?”

“No. If you’re caught, you’ll be arrested for treason in a moment.”

Link snorted. “That’s a big if.”

“What I want,” Ganondorf continued, “is reconnaissance. Use the stealth and observation skills you demonstrated so well today, and gather as much information as you _legally_ can.”

“I can pick locks,” Link pointed out. “I’m sure I could get inside.”

“So you could. But getting _out_ is the problem, and I don’t want your life in danger again.”

Link’s fingers traced the outlines of the streets, starting from the Sheikah Center, out to the guard towers, and the lowest parts of the city. At last, he looked up, renewed spark in his eyes.

“When do I start?”

* * *

Link departed that night, taking Fork and the telescope with him. She couldn’t protect him in mouse-form, but she could help him stay calm if he got overwhelmed, or run for help if the Sheikah caught him. Fortunately, no trouble arose, and his outside trips soon became routine.

Said trips proved useful quickly: Link made great use of the telescope to chart the locations of guard stations and cannons, both across the city and on the walls of Hyrule Castle itself. He learned that representatives from each major province would convene soon for the annual council, including the chiefs of the Gorons and Gerudo, the governors of Tabantha, Faron and Necluda, the commanding general in Akkala, and the prince and princess of Zorana. He even found a map of tunnels beneath the Wall of Holodrum, where refugees from the Calatian conquest could be smuggled out.

Link also brought in little things no one would miss: vials, a ball of string, small metal pipes to start crafting another organ. He collected weeds, flowers, bugs, and a dead snake, which went into the vials, neatly labeled and dated, because he’d brought his awful taste in hobbies with him, too. But it got him talking about his interests again, and leafing through books to figure out what he’d found, so Ganondorf allowed it.

Most of the time, Link left at night, when it was easier to hide and there was less noise to overwhelm him. Link stayed up late, and slept in late. Usually, by the time Ganondorf awoke, his son had long returned and gone to bed.

But one morning, a medley of clicking noises came from Link’s room. Ganondorf went to investigate, and Link immediately tried to hide something behind his back.

Ganondorf raised an eyebrow. “It doesn’t work if the object you’re trying to hide is wider than you are.”

Link made a disappointed noise.

“Come on,” Ganondorf said, “out with it.”

Link sheepishly brought the object out in front of him. It looked like a small bow horizontally attached to a platform, with a lever to draw the string and a lock to hold it taut. A groove ran down the center of a platform, wide enough for an arrow.

Ganondorf had seen crossbows in his last life, but never bothered to make his monsters use them. They held an advantage over standard bows in that they required less strength, and a shorter training time. But these made no difference for creatures twice the size of a Gerudo, and who trained with war bows for their whole lives.

Link bit his lip. “You did tell me to look for weapons.”

“And you found one,” Ganondorf signed. “Good work, but that isn’t the weapon that killed your friends. There were no arrows on the battlefield.”

Link rubbed his neck.

“It’s not for that.” He took a deep breath. “I want to use it myself.”

Ganondorf crossed his arms. “Link...”

“I know I’m supposed to avoid combat,” he signed. “I do avoid it. But I want to be able to defend myself better.”

“A crossbow isn’t a defensive weapon. Your hiking stick is better for that.”

Link grimaced. “Well, yes, but...”

“But?”

“But it’s not just for me.” His hands sped up. “Arrow and Sunshroom were cut down by people hundreds of feet away. There was nothing I could do. But if I could stop people before they hurt my friends...” He swallowed. “I don’t want it happening to Fork. Or to you.”

A heavy feeling curdled in Ganondorf’s chest. He’d forbidden Link from learning the arts of combat to avoid the possibility that the boy could pose a threat to him. But truthfully, he hadn’t worried about that in ages.

Besides, it was a crossbow, not the Master Sword.

“You may practice with it,” he signed. “As long as you take care to avoid notice.”

Link sucked in a breath, and his face lit up.

“ _Dad_ ,” he signed, and leapt up to wrap Ganondorf in a hug.

“Yes, yes, you’re welcome,” Ganondorf muttered. “No shooting arrows in the house.”

Link’s only response was a squeeze on the shoulder, and a grin that made Ganondorf regret this decision already.

Link spent the rest of the day toying with the crossbow, taking it apart, and putting it together. He drew a diagram, and began collecting scraps of wood and metal to try constructing a bigger one. He started to leave the house during daylight hours sometimes to practice archery outside the city. As in his previous lives, his aim improved rapidly, though not without leaving holes in the wall of the townhouse occasionally.

A crossbow would be hard to explain if the guards caught him. But he hadn’t returned with so much as a scratch, even after he started leaving without Fork. Nor had the town criers mentioned a Gerudo boy breaking into somewhere he shouldn’t. After several lifetimes of the Hyrulean army _and_ Ganondorf’s monsters failing to catch the Hero, Ganondorf was not exactly worried. In fact, it was delightfully ironic that the Hero’s stealth was now being used against the Hyruleans it was supposed to protect.

Ganondorf found him one morning at the kitchen table, studying a yellow, crescent-shaped fruit, similar to the one their stalker carried several weeks before. Link turned it over in his hand, as if considering how to eat it.

“It’s called a banana,” he signed with a grin. “Apparently it comes from the Faronese jungle.”

“Brilliant.” Ganondorf didn’t bother to hide his sarcasm. “I’m sure we’ll be able to defeat the Hyrulean army with bananas.”

“Don’t be so discouraged.” Link’s grin widened. “You might be interested in how I got this.”

“You don’t say.”

“Bananas are contraband. They’re considered a symbol of dissidents.” He pointed one end of it at Ganondorf, then signed, “Bringing them into the city is grounds for interrogation.”

“You think our friend from the other day was a rebel?”

“I found their base.” Link cast his arms wide around the room. “Poor security, bananas everywhere. I’m surprised their skin hasn’t turned yellow.”

Ganondorf stroked his chin. Those subversives might prove useful dupes for dismantling the city from within, and ushering in an era of Ganondorf’s rule.

“Tell me,” he signed, “who are these rebels, and what cause do they pursue?”

“They call themselves the Yiga,” Link signed. “And they want nothing less than the fall of Hyrule.”


	11. Opponent

The next day, Ganondorf made himself invisible and followed Link’s directions to the Yiga hideout. They disguised themselves well as ordinary townsfolk, and if not for the tip-off, he would have mistaken it for any other hotel. But after a minute of reconnaissance through the staff rooms, he found a large underground chamber that was absolutely full of bananas.

The scent twinged at the back of his mind. There was something familiar about it. Then several of the Yiga came in, whispering, and he knew. Their masks were the same as those of the cult that had released him all those years ago.

The leader was a middle-aged Hylian with vey earrings, dressed all in red. They took a seat at the head of the conference table, and their subordinates sat at the opposite end. Four tall men with poleaxes stationed themselves at the door.

“Hail the Tyrant,” the leader said.

“Hail the Tyrant,” the rest of the Yiga answered.

Ganondorf rolled his eyes, and suppressed a sigh. His cultists were as annoyingly dramatic as ever.

“Hail the Incarnation of Demise, Chosen of Din, Enemy of Hylia...” The Yiga repeated the chant.

_Idiots._

No goddess had chosen Ganondorf. He’d _earned_ his fragment of the Triforce during his first war against Hyrule.

As long as the Yiga tried to get the attention of gods, their efforts would be pointless. Ganondorf had learned that the hard way, when his tribe had been wiped out and the gods refused to come to their aid, no matter how much he had begged. He’d had to resort to making a pact with the shadow in the desert for a chance at vengeance. After that, he’d pursued his war against Hyrule by himself, for himself, and for his slaughtered kin.

The subordinates discussed their activities for the week with their leader. Most of it was such tedious things as tracking their “rebel hours” and making sure the banana-flavored tea was being brewed correctly. But eventually they got to something useful.

“I snuck into the princess’ archery practice,” said a tall spy with curly hair. “She can shoot well enough, but the girl doesn’t have a speck of magic in her.”

A shorter one chuckled. “Of course she doesn’t. The gods don’t want her on the throne.”

“Or she could be a bastard.”

“You think the Regent could relax long enough to have a bastard?”

The leader held up a hand for peace. They leaned back in their chair.

“How delightful.” They stroked their chin beneath the mask. “She’s running out of time to earn that crown. And when she fails, the Calatians will press their claim.”

The taller spy grunted. “How is another branch of the same family any better? The Labrynnese don’t _have_ a monarchy anymore.”

“They aren’t better.” The leader waved a hand dismissively. “But this will split the government in two: those who want a real monarch on the throne, and those loyal to the Regent and her sister, General Urbosa.”

“And to the princess.”

“Please,” said the leader. “Nobody follows the princess. She’d lead them straight into the Zora pond.”

Around the table, the Yiga laughed.

“The point isn’t to help Calatia,” the leader said, “but to get the line of Hylia to kill each other _for_ us. Labrynna would get in the way when we hand Hyrule over to the lord of evil.”

Said lord of evil might have had more confidence in them if they hadn’t forgotten that they’d already resurrected him.

He noted, with some amusement, that all the Yiga were Hylians. Ganondorf knew their type: alienated from society, thinking they were special, yearning for upheaval with the assumption _they_ would be immune. They weren’t revolutionaries. They just wanted to play out their little power fantasies.

If that provided an excuse for the Yiga to sabotage Hyrule, Ganondorf wasn’t going to dissuade them. But he wasn’t about to entrust them with his plans, either.

The Yiga leader steepled their fingers, presumably in an attempt to look menacing.

“Enough of our favorite royal brat. What of Operation D.O.O.M.?”

Ganondorf resisted the urge to audibly sigh. At least there was one trait the Yiga had in common with proper minions: they couldn’t name anything worth a damn.

The Yiga subordinates cringed, and looked at each other.

“Well?” the leader said, tapping their fingers on the table.

“Well,” said the tall Yiga, “We’ve been trying to undermine the city, one enemy at a time. But lately we’ve been running into a...problem.”

The tapping stopped. “What kind of problem?”

“It’s nothing big,” the subordinate said, waving their hands vaguely “I’m sure we’ll have it well in hand soon enough.”

“I _said_ , what kind of problem?”

The tall Yiga fidgeted in their seat, then straightened up.

“Just an insect buzzing about where it shouldn’t be. A pest to be swatted.”

“A vigilante,” the shorter Yiga said. “They’ve been grabbing us every time we try to shank someone—”

A black-haired Yiga spoke up, “No, it’s a Sheikah. Only the Sheikah could be so cunning.”

The table erupted into six people talking over each other.

“Sheikah or Yiga, you mean.”

“I hear Urbosa’s returned.”

“The general’s too busy guarding the mad princess.”

“I don’t know. I swear that woman never sleeps.”

“If she’s back, we’ll kill her like the others.”

“We haven’t been able to kill anyone lately! Haven’t you been listening?”

“Enough!” the leader shouted, slamming a hand on the table. The noise echoed around the room, and all the others fell silent.

Yes, Ganondorf thought, it was better not to involve these doofuses in his plans. In previous lifetimes he’d already seen his forces slaughtered by one person: the Hero. But this time, the Hero wasn’t active. If the Yiga _still_ weren’t competent enough to deal with a single vigilante, they didn’t have the discipline to conquer or administer Hyrule.

The Yiga leader pointed to the tall one. “Tell me more about this unknown opponent.”

“They’re extremely quiet.” The tall one tapped their chin under the mask. “They dress in dark colors, like a Sheikah, and they sneak up on you. They fight with a staff, and they’ll tie you up and gag you, then dump you in front of the nearest guard station.” They crossed their arms, voice rising. “That’s why I say it’s a Sheikah. A vigilante would use a sword or crossbow. This is someone who wants to interrogate us instead.”

The leader hummed, and stroked their chin.

“Has this person ever attempted to track you to a safe house?”

The subordinates hummed and shared glances. The tall one spoke again.

“Not that we know of.”

“Watch for it,” the leader said. “Keep to covered alleys whenever possible. Rito are everywhere, and their eyes are sharper than ours.”

The subordinates nodded.

“It is most likely a Sheikah,” the leader continued. “Or at least, someone in league with them. We should assume the worst until we have evidence to the contrary.”

Oh, look. one of the Yiga apparently had a brain.

“Any other information about the vigilante?”

There was a chorus of “No” around the table.

“Very well,” the leader said. “With that topic covered, which of you has been taking the banana tea? Those peels are for _sharing_.”

...Maybe not much of a brain.

“And remember,” the Yiga leader said. “The peels must not be under-ripe, that alters their infusion properties—” 

Their voice was drowned out by the most wretched screeching noise Ganondorf had ever heard. It was similar to the alarm from the Sheikah base, but louder, and more toneless, like a baby Goron with diaper rash. He looked around. There were no Sheikah bursting in, no startling from the Yiga.

“Not again,” said one. “I can’t wait for the mad princess to be deposed.”

“Can’t we stay here?” said another. “It’s not like anyone knows to look for us.”

A third grumbled. “That would blow my cover.”

“The princess,” the leader said, “can scream about the stars falling from the sky all she likes. But we have work to do.”

Ganondorf froze. The Sheikah might not have caught _them,_ but Link. Link was clever, and stealthy, and didn’t normally run missions at this hour, and yet…

He slipped out of the room as quickly and silently as he could, and exited to the street. The screeching was downright ear-splitting outside. The street was choked by a dense river of people streaming downhill and toward the city gates. Gorons knocked at people’s doors and cajoled them to come out, while Rito guards flew overhead to supervise. And yet, the locals walked calmly, muttering as if this were more an inconvenience than an emergency.

Link would have the skill to evade the patrols, at least under normal circumstances. But the noise of the sirens and the streets brimming with unhappy people could overwhelm him. Ganondorf needed to find him before the Sheikah did.

Staying invisible, he leapt into the air and flew over the city. He had never been more grateful for his Triforce sense, and followed the connection to the southern edge of the city, where its newest walls jutted out into the Hyrulean Plain. Link had to be nearby, far too close to the guard towers. But as Ganondorf surveyed the walls and guard towers, he couldn’t see Link anywhere. Nor was there any commotion suggesting a civilian—or spy—had been apprehended.

He flew over the battlements, focusing on the Triforce sense like he was playing a Goron game of “magma”—hotter here, colder there, trying to guess the target location. Eventually the pull was straight below him, but straight below him was a solid layer of stone wall. Even Link couldn’t hide inside solid rock.

Then again, this _was_ Link.

Ganondorf floated down along the outer edge of the wall, and in the shadow of a buttress he found a small alcove, nearly invisible. And sitting at the alcove’s edge was a cloaked figure.

The icy dread eased its grip around his heart. He should have had more faith in his son. He stepped onto the ledge, next to the figure, and made himself visible again. Link raised a hand in greeting, but showed no sign of surprise.

He had no idea how Link could have gotten here without turning into a spider and climbing upside-down, but it was an excellent vantage point. Not only could they survey the crowds gathering in the field, but the masonry and shadows provided cover from Rito eyes.

In the river, the Zora formed groups of twenty, and several of their guards swam up and down the banks, herding them into position. From what Ganondorf had read, Zorana had submitted over two hundred years ago, but it was still bizarre to see Zora troops in the Hylian capital—especially the massive red one, who must have been the heir to Zorana itself.

Stranger yet were the Gerudo taking orders from Hylian guards that hardly came up to their chests. Strange, and revolting. When he was in charge, Ganondorf would put a stop to that.

The civilians collected in the fields south of the city, beyond the half-built festival stages and booths. There, they formed small groups like the Zora had.

The most astonishing thing was how organized it was. The citizens did not seem scared, or surprised that they’d been told to uproot themselves from their dwellings with no notice. In the past, no authority had the organization and command structure to do that without creating a mass panic. Was the city so accustomed to peace?

Link glanced at him. “Find the Yiga alright?”

“Indeed. They seem...less than reliable.”

Link snorted. “Smoked too many bananas, huh.”

On the festival stage, General Urbosa towered over the Hylians at nearly eight feet, scarlet hair tied back over bronze armor, brown hand resting on the scimitar at her hip. She stood tall and regal, scanning the crowd like a mountain lion watching for prey. Ganondorf’s blood soured at the sight of her.

The city itself was quiet, all its people gathered either in the field or in the river. Only the Rito guides flying overhead stayed within the walls.

A girl of perhaps seventeen stepped up to the stage, and stood in the center, dark brown hands clenched tight together. She dressed like a soldier, clad in leather and chain mail, black ringlets tucked into a braid. On her head she wore a golden circlet emblazoned with the royal family’s crest. A cousin, perhaps?

“My people,” she started, voice wavering, “I thank you all for your cooperation with today’s evacuation rehearsal.”

Her voice was magnified with Sheikah magic, but the Sheikah couldn’t make her sound confident. Judging by the restless shuffling and low murmur of the crowd, her subjects weren’t impressed, either. If not for Urbosa backing her up, they might not have stood to listen to her at all.

She stammered on, fumbling through a speech about teamwork, and preparation, and something nauseatingly patriotic that Ganondorf didn’t bother to listen to. He almost missed the heat rising on the back of his hand.

No. It couldn’t be. Her bones were too tall, and her shoulders too broad for a Hylian. He’d looked her up years ago. Princess Zelda Arconia Hyrule was named for her mother, Queen Regent Arcona, as was traditional for the Hylian royal family.

But Arconia was _also_ the Hylian equivalent of the Gerudo _Arqunin._

Ganondorf shook his head, eyes wide and disbelieving. “The princess of the Hylians is part Gerudo.”

Link raised an eyebrow. “The speaker?”

“The very same.”

Link’s eyes narrowed. “Wonder if she’s the one who ordered the soldiers to invade the desert.”

On a closer look, the princess had a darker complexion and curlier hair than her last life, but the posture, the steady gaze, and the way she wrung her hands were the same. No matter. She would still grow up to be the foolish, haughty woman who had sealed him away last time. Though the faces were different, her fundamental nature never changed.

Link’s amber eyes glared at her with a heat Ganondorf had only seen directed at himself before. It was a delightful sight. The two other pieces of the Triforce opposed each other already.

“You don’t seem terribly fond of her,” Ganondorf remarked, not hiding his amusement.

Link wrinkled his nose. “You know why.”

“Arrow and Sunshroom.”

“And Varuq.” Link leaned back, and let out a long huff. “And everyone who’s ever lost someone they loved, or been stalked by secret agents of the throne, or who ‘disappeared’ in the middle of the night.”

Ganondorf raised a hand to agree, but Link went on.

“It’s not right for the royals to treat people that way. It’s not right that they get away with it, and this whole city wants to kiss their feet.” His eyes sparked within the shadows. “I don’t want what happened to our friends to happen to anyone else.”

Ganondorf couldn’t help smiling. “You’re already doing your part to help stop it.”

“I want to do more.”

His hands moved with a jagged sharpness, and it was all the confirmation Ganondorf needed.

“Very well,” he signed. “What do you know about the Triforce?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friend of mine very kindly [commissioned fanart,](https://st-hedge.tumblr.com/post/627815674463518720/compilation-of-flash-commissions-thank-u-everyone) which I can link now that we've finally met Zelda.


	12. Adviser

Link fingerspelled the word. “Triforce?”

Ganondorf sat down beside him on the alcove’s edge, and switched to speaking aloud.

“It’s the bridge between the world of mortals and the world of gods. Din, Farore, Nayru, Hylia.” As he named each one, his hand curled into a fist. “Their power is too immense to manifest completely in this world without shattering it. So they must use a conduit, either through mortal bodies, or the Triforce, which acts as a floodgate.”

Link turned fully towards him and stared. “I thought the gods were just a metaphor for kids?”

“If only.”

Ganondorf wouldn’t have begrudged a metaphor for making the Hylians prosper, while leaving his people to die. Or for selecting a mere child as a “conduit.”

“Only the gods can use the Triforce,” he said. “But if a mortal were to acquire it...”

“They’d become like a god?”

“Briefly. They could redirect the gods’ power for their own purpose, effectively granting any wish they desired.”

Link frowned, and cocked an eyebrow.

“You said ‘briefly.’”

“The gods will shut down the conduit as soon as a mortal uses it.”

“Sounds like the smart move is to wish for a million more wishes.”

“A good thought,” he granted. “But they already closed that loophole. Only the first one works, and only if you act fast enough before they close the conduit.”

Ganondorf had discovered those limits the hard way.

Link hummed, and rested his chin on one hand, studying the crowds gathered across the field.

“What would you wish for?”

“Justice,” Ganondorf said. “For everything that’s been done to my people.”

It was a more palatable phrase than “conquer Hyrule,” but it amounted to the same.

“What about yourself?”

Link closed his eyes. His hand drifted toward the iron rings hanging from his neck, and he spun them around in his fingers, before looking up.

“I think,” he signed, “I’d wish for a regular-sized, unremarkable orange.”

Ganondorf gaped at him.

“In an unremarkable place for an orange to be,” Link added.

“That’s oddly specific.”

“Mhmm.” Link nodded. “That way it won’t be something stupid like a giant orange falling on me, or giving off toxic fumes, or appearing in the middle of my chest and killing me.”

Ganondorf’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “I wonder about you sometimes.”

“He has a point, Boss,” Fork signed, crawling out from Link’s hood. “I would also appreciate not getting squished by a falling orange.”

“You wouldn’t want Sunshroom or Arrow back? Or your mother?”

“Wishes always turn out badly in stories,” Link signed. “I figure it’s less likely to backfire if I ask for a small one.”

For a long moment, Ganondorf said nothing. He sighed again, and switched to sign.

“You shouldn’t give up on your loved ones so easily.”

Link winced, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“In any case,” Ganondorf signed, “the Triforce is the key to getting justice for the wrongs done to us.”

Link frowned. “What about the intelligence gathering?”

“That and the minions are ultimately meant to defend you, and other people from the Hyrulean army. But the Triforce is necessary to prevent Hyrule from ever threatening anyone again.”

Link squinted out over the plain, toward the crowds. Toward the princess.

“Alright,” he signed. “I’ll help in any way I can.”

Ganondorf smiled. “Oh, I’m sure you will.”

* * *

Ganondorf entered the kitchen one morning to find Link seated at the table, arms crossed, staring hard at the long object laid out before him.

“Good morning,” Ganondorf said aloud.

Link made no response. He kept glaring at the object, faint dark circles under his eyes, as if it had personally victimized him.

“Link,” Ganondorf said, more loudly.

Link jerked up. “Oh, hey, Dad.”

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

Link shook his head. “Couldn’t. I found the weapon that killed our friends.”

Ganondorf glanced to the object on the table, some sort of metal and wooden tube, with a bent protrusion at one end. This might be the key to defeating the Hyrulean army and taking power. But if Link had found it, that might mean…

Ganondorf sat down beside him. “Are you alright?”

Link gave him a thumbs-up. “They never touched me.”

“That’s not what I asked. Were you injured anywhere?”

“No, Dad.”

“Good.” He clapped Link on the shoulder. “And good work. Now go to bed.”

Link shrugged, and gave him a pained smile.

“I don’t think I can sleep now.”

A part of Ganondorf’s chest felt tight. “Memories?”

Link nodded, and his eyes drifted down to the metal tube.

For years after the war with the Hylians, Ganondorf had struggled to sleep as well. Some nights, he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing the bodies that used to be his family. For that to happen to Ganondorf was bad enough, but Link had done nothing to deserve this.

“We’ll move to the parlor,” he signed. “You can stay up, but take a nap as soon as you start to feel it. Understood?”

A wave of acknowledgment. “Thanks.”

Link sprawled over the couch, in a way that made Ganondorf’s back hurt to look at. Ganondorf sat across from him in his chair, examining the strange weapon while Link explained what he knew.

“Don’t point it at your face,” he signed. “The hole’s where the thing comes out.”

“The thing,” Ganondorf said aloud.

“Mhmm,” Link grunted. “Fire rocky tiny thing.”

Ganondorf raised an eyebrow. “You really do need sleep.”

“Mmmf.”

Link went quiet for the next few minutes, picking at the sheepskin throw blanket, and Ganondorf studied the object more thoroughly. A curved lever protruded from the tube, almost like the lever of a crossbow, and pulling it moved an internal clamp. But the tube was too long for bolts or arrows, and had no apparent way to draw tension like a bow did. A small hole sat near the lever, though if it had a purpose, he couldn’t say.

“It’s called a d-a-r-u-k,” Link signed, fingerspelling the new word.

Daruk was the Goron researcher at the Sheikah Center. The weapon’s creator, presumably, who’d mentioned something about a magma-suit and powder mines...Goron-powder. The explosive ingredient used to fire cannons, and cannons produced smoke and booming noises, like those at the massacre of Fort Ular.

Ganondorf held the tube out like a venomous snake. The crazy Gorons and Hylians had developed handheld cannons, because apparently they thought firing explosives right next to one’s face was a good idea. It was the stupidest, most reckless weapon concept imaginable, and he suspected it would kill the user as likely as the enemy.

“Link,” he said, “we’ll need to—”

He stopped at the sight of Link sound asleep, head draped over one elbow on an armrest.

Ganondorf’s face softened. Din knew the boy had earned it.

He rose, and silently placed the daruk behind the false wall of a closet, before laying the sheepskin over Link’s shoulders. The rest of the investigation could wait.

* * *

“If I ever say I want one of these,” Link signed, fingers jabbing the air, “please dump water on me until I come to my senses.”

Ganondorf chuckled. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Link threw up his hands glaring up at the sky as if Daruk the Goron was up there, personally mocking them. He let out a loud sigh and fell backwards against the grass.

Testing the daruk in the city would have drawn attention immediately, so they’d hired a carriage and taken half a day’s journey southwest, skimming the northern Hyrule Plain and arriving at the Passeri Forest. The trees would hide them from passing Rito, and hopefully dampen the noise, if indeed the daruk worked as Ganondorf thought. He, Link and Fork now found themselves at the edge of the woods, where Link had spent the past half-hour trying to make the daruk fire.

Trying, anyway.

It did not help that this was their third such trip, after discovering that they didn’t have all the equipment the first time: the daruk, pellets to fire, Goron-powder to ignite, cotton cord, saltpeter, and paper to write down everything they tried. More specifically, what Link tried: cannons were a recent invention in Ganondorf’s last life, and he’d never needed to learn their use.

“Powder, pellet, saltpeter-cord,” Link signed, staring up at the forest canopy. “I put the powder and pellet where they should be, lit the match, put the match in...I’m missing something.”

If he was struggling, with all his mechanical knowledge, it was hard to believe the idiots comprising the Hyrulean army doing any better. Elite Sheikah agents could probably operate it, but there weren’t enough of them to form a battalion of such size that had killed Arrow and Sunshroom.

Link sat up, and glared at the daruk again. He clapped his hands for attention.

“Fork?”

Fork poked her head out from the folds where he’d dropped his cloak.

“I’m not crawling in there.”

“No, no. Can you get me a thin, straight stick?”

The mouse-shaped bokoblin tilted her head. “What do you need that for?”

“I’m trying something else.”

“Why not keep using the crossbow?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Stick please?”

She squeaked in annoyance, but retrieved a tree branch of the right shape. Link thanked her, closed his eyes, and drew a deep breath.

“One more time?” Ganondorf prompted.

Link nodded. He put the powder into the barrel, then the pellet, then tamped them both down as far as they would go using the branch. He then ripped off a piece of paper from his notebook, crumpled it up, and tamped that down the barrel of the daruk as well. He added more Goron-powder inside the mechanism attached to the lever, and attached a piece of cord soaked in saltpeter next to it.

“One more time,” he signed.

Link stood, and picked the daruk up. He aimed at the same tree he always did, a good ten paces away, and pulled the lever.

A massive boom rang out, a cloud of smoke and light exploded from the daruk, and the recoil nearly knocked him from his feet. He dropped the daruk instinctively and his hands flew to cover his ears, which were probably ringing as painfully as Ganondorf’s now were.

“Link,” Ganondorf signed between coughs, “are you alright?”

Link stepped away from the cloud. His face was pale, and his movements jerkier than usual. He held up a hand, as if to say “Give me a moment,” and rubbed the rings of his necklace between his fingers. The same rings he’d retrieved from Arrow and Sunshroom’s bodies.

Ganondorf pursed his lips. That was the exact sound from the massacre site, and it must have been louder and more terrifying for Link to get caught in the middle of it.

“That’s enough,” Ganondorf signed. “No need to fire again. Fork, did he hit anything?”

Fork scurried to the tree Link had targeted, and returned.

“No luck,” she signed. “But I don’t think anybody could aim that.”

_What a waste of time._

Indeed. Between the difficulty of use, inability to aim, and likelihood of exploding in the user’s face, he could hardly believe this weapon had slaughtered his troops.

“Any better, Link?”

Link ran a dusty hand through his hair, and nodded.

“Good. Pack up the equipment; we’re going home.”

Link’s shoulders sagged in relief, and he wrapped the daruk in heavy cloth. Fork retrieved the powder-box, pellet bag, saltpeter and cord, and placed them in their satchel. The three of them returned to the roadside where Ganondorf would hire a coach to the city by signaling to the next messenger-Rito who passed overhead. At least the bird-people were useful for something.

“It was an interesting find,” Ganondorf signed as they waited, “and you did a good job, but I don’t believe this is the weapon we’re looking for.”

Link frowned, shifting the weight of the daruk against his side. “Why not?”

“It’s unwieldy, inaccurate, and takes too long to load. You’d miss the enemy with your first shot, and they would cut you down before you could fire a second.”

Link hummed. “I think it is, actually. And I think there’s a reason why it killed my friends so easily.”

“Explain.”

“A warrior using a daruk by herself has those problems. But what if you got a bunch of them together, and had them alternate attacks? You could have one set of people shooting while two or three reloaded, making a constant hail of fire. And if you shot into a group, like the one Arrow and Sunshroom were in, the barrage would take down the group immediately.”

That...was a clever idea. Ganondorf might have to steal it when he trained his next legion.

“True,” he signed, “but the same could be said of crossbows, which are _not_ likely to explode in the user’s face.”

Link’s eyes darted away, and he swallowed, before making eye contact again.

“Crossbows are weaker,” he signed. “The moblins used to fire arrows at each other for practice enduring and bandaging wounds. But one hit from the daruk was...”

He trailed off, hands waving away the unpleasant memory. Ganondorf didn’t press him on it.

Their coach arrived, and the conversation stopped while Link got in, Fork hidden in his bag, and Ganondorf gave the driver directions. For the next few minutes on the road, Ganondorf considered the weapon’s viability, and Link’s fingers traced the daruk’s outline through the cloth.

“It’s a shame,” Link signed. “If it weren’t made for murdering people, it’d be fascinating to experiment with. The lever mechanism is smart.”

The thought of Link goofing around with a miniature cannon was more terrifying than anything the Hero had done to Ganondorf before.

“Don’t give me any more grey hairs.”

Link snorted. “You don’t get grey hair, you’re Gerudo.”

“You think I joke.” He wrinkled his lip. “It is the most idiotic, reckless, self-defeating concept for a weapon I’ve ever seen. Which makes it perfect for the Hyrulean army, but you are smarter than that.”

Link shrugged and made a half-smile. “Am I?”

Ganondorf gave him a long-suffering look. Link kept smiling at him. It was a pity his son had never developed a sense of self-consciousness.

* * *

“Wait a moment,” Ganondorf said when they got home. “There’s something else I want to discuss with you.”

Link cocked his head, but set the daruk aside, and followed Ganondorf to his study. Ganondorf spread out a map of the city on his desk.

“You’ve heard the rumors about Calatia.”

Link tapped his chin. “Something about them invading?”

He nodded. “If Princess Zelda can’t prove her lineage before she comes of age, the throne will pass to the next closest blood descendant, the Queen of Calatia. The Hyruleans don’t want to be ruled by a foreigner, so war would likely erupt.”

Link frowned, glancing at the world map on Ganondorf’s wall.

“What would that mean for us?”

“This city may be attacked in the near future. If that happens,” Ganondorf pulled up a second chair at the desk, “for your safety, you’ll need to know more than the official evacuation routes. You’ll have to anticipate where the fighting will be and what dangers to evade.”

He gestured for Link to sit down across from him. Link hesitated, having never joined Ganondorf in the study for a serious discussion before, but sat.

“Right,” he signed. “What do you think will happen?”

Ganondorf smiled. “I want you to work that out.”

Link’s eyes widened, and he pointed to himself, disbelieving.

“Me?”

“You’re a smart boy. You figured out how the daruk could be useful in battle, despite its shortcomings.” He steepled his fingers. “Think about what you would do if you were attempting to conquer this city.”

Link nodded, and leaned forward. He pored over the map, fingers tracing over the streets and buildings.

Ganondorf sat back, and waited. It _would_ be useful for Link to have a plan in case of invasion. But the chance of a mere Calatian striking him down was remote. No, Ganondorf had a more ambitious goal in mind.

After conquering Hyrule, he would need a second-in-command.

“Alright,” Link signed, looking up. “How many soldiers and supplies do I have? How healthy are the troops, and is there a clear path to Calatia if I need to retreat?”

Ganondorf’s eyebrows rose. Link was gathering more information instead of jumping to conclusions: a good sign.

“Assume your troops are about equal to the defenders’ numbers and health. You have enough supplies to lay siege for a month, but no more, and you can retreat at any time.”

Link hummed. “What’s the surrounding countryside look like?”

“As it is now.”

“Does the fortress need to be usable after it’s taken? Am I only trying to destroy the enemy, or trying to take a usable city for myself?”

That...was a stranger question. But in the real situation, it didn’t matter so long as Ganondorf got the Triforce.

“Destroy it if you wish,” he said.

Link nodded, eyes fixed on the map. He slouched in his seat, and hummed.

“In that case,” he signed, “I’d retreat to the forests between here and Calatia, hide most of my troops there, turn my Rito allies invisible and have them bomb the city.”

Invisible _Rito?_ Din’s teeth, what a horrifying thought. However…

Ganondorf raised a finger. “There are no Rito in Calatia.”

“You can’t take the capital without them. The defending ones can see any force coming, and can bomb soldiers and siege weapons from above. If they’re invisible, then archers can’t take them out either.”

Ganondorf stroked his chin. He had to concede the point.

“Honestly,” Link signed, “I think they’re a bigger obstacle than the daruks. For invaders, anyway. I don’t think you need to worry about the Calatians conquering us.”

“So it comes down to who controls the air,” Ganondorf said. “You don’t think there’s any other way?”

Link bit his lip. “The only other way...”

“Yes?”

“The attack would have to move so fast,” he signed, “and with such overwhelming force, that the Rito didn’t matter. Maybe split the army into fast-moving squads with wheeled cannons, all taking different routes so they can’t be taken out at once, then have them fire at the city from all angles?” He grunted, and scratched his head. “It’s a long shot, though. There’s multiple layers of walls, so by the time you got one down, the Rito would be bombing you...”

He trailed off, frowning at the map.

“Link,” Ganondorf said.

“Hmm?”

“You’d make an excellent strategist.”

Link reddened, and smiled. “Thanks.”

The Hyruleans in previous lifetimes must have been idiots, to have never trusted their Hero with a military command. Or perhaps Link was smarter this time around, thanks to Ganondorf’s influence and book-buying habits.

Either way, he couldn’t help the warm tinge of pride in his chest.

“So,” he said, “the position heavily favors the Hyruleans. The only way past the Rito is to get flying soldiers of our own and bomb the city before they can bomb us, or to smash the city with a force too fast and overwhelming for the Rito to counter.”

“That’s all I can think of.” Link shrugged. “So, what’d I miss?”

“Nothing, unless I missed it as well.”

Link’s smile grew a little wider.

Ganondorf rolled up the map. “I’ll have to think about what you said. Would you bring me the daruk?”

“Sure thing!”

He retrieved the weapon, and Ganondorf stowed it and its supplies in a secret compartment behind a bookshelf.

“Thank you for your ideas. Now, weren’t you planning to modify your crossbow?”

Link’s eyes lit up. “Ah, right! Bye!”

He practically ran up the steps to his room, leaving Ganondorf chuckling behind him. Link was a good kid. And when Ganondorf conquered Hyrule, he would make an even better second-in-command.

The conquest, on the other hand…

Ganondorf’s army had been smashed, its survivors scattered, and he had neither the time nor space to raise another one. Even if he did, taking the capital would be almost impossible. Thus, it would be nearly impossible to capture the princess.

But there was another option. A tactic too fast and overwhelming for the Rito, as Link had said. It would be a tremendous drain on Ganondorf’s magic, and less useful for governing than an army would be, but as long as he could get his hands on the Triforce, it could work.

He reached into his desk, and pulled an aged piece of parchment from the drawer. It was covered in diagrams and script in a language long extinct. At the top was a single word:

_Belgorath._


	13. Liar

The next morning, Ganondorf was putting his final plans together to discuss with Link when a knock came at the front door.

“Excuse me!” a voice rang out like a bell. “Is this where Mr. Link Varuqin lives?”

His eyes narrowed. Link never saw visitors, and he would have mentioned if he was expecting a delivery. Hopefully, Ganondorf could intimidate the intruder into backing off, before reminding his son about the importance of not being seen. He slid his maps into his desk, locked the drawer, and strode over to open the door.

“Good morning!” said the largest Zora in the capital.

Blast it all to hell.

The Zora had gotten down on one knee so he could speak at eye-level. His mouth grinned with four rows of shark-like teeth, and he held a large box in his clawed hands. Up and down the street, people stopped to watch.

Ganondorf frowned, recalibrating his approach. “Good...morning.”

“Ah!” The Zora’s hand flew to cover his teeth. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? My name is Sidon Dorephanius Zorana.”

As if it were possible to mistake him for anybody else. His size alone marked him as Zorana’s prince. And, according to Ganondorf’s research, said prince was a twit. Still, Ganondorf did not need government attention directed at him or his son.

“You’re looking for Link?”

Sidon nodded, head-tail flipping up in enthusiasm. “Indeed I am!”

“Might I ask the purpose of your visit?”

“There’s this rumor going around.” Sidon’s voice boomed, and it would draw the whole neighborhood’s attention soon. “And I wanted to confirm—”

“Come inside.” Ganondorf swung the door wide open.

“Oh!” Sidon lit up. “Why, thank you!”

Despite the heightened ceilings and doorways, it couldn’t have been comfortable for him to fold himself through the entrance and hunch over inside. But the smile never left his face. His eyes darted about the room, and upon seeing no furniture that could hold him, he took a seat on the floor.

Every nerve in Ganondorf’s body was on high alert. From what he’d heard, Sidon was a gentle and forgiving soul. He’d never known war like his ancestors had. But he was a political leader, and powerful enough to tear a man to shreds—whether in a brawl or in a court.

“There’s a rumor,” Sidon said, head-tail wagging, “about a mysterious hero who’s been going around protecting people from thieves, stalkers, kidnappings—”

Ganondorf sat down on the couch across from him. “Yes. The Sheikah.”

Sidon’s slit pupils narrowed. “What makes you think it’s a Sheikah?”

“Who else would it be?”

Sidon hummed, looking skeptical

“One of my attendants stumbled down the Gorontown Steps last week,” he said. “She broke her ankle badly. A man in a grey cloak carried her to the hospital, where my sister healed her.” His head-tail stilled, and he studied Ganondorf. “She said the man was about seventeen, eighteen, and had the hair and eyes of a Gerudo.”

“Many Gerudo live in this city,” Ganondorf said.

“Quite so,” Sidon agreed. “But the women and vey outnumber the men fifty to—”

He trailed off, and his eyes fixed on something on the other side of the room.

Link.

Link was peering down from the staircase with bedhead and wrinkled clothes, presumably woken by Sidon’s booming voice. He squinted at their visitor, and sent a dubious glance toward Ganondorf: _Who’s this joker?_

Ganondorf raised his eyebrows and shrugged: _I don’t like it any more than you do._

Sidon was staring. His jaw hung slack, and his arm was frozen in the middle of a gesture, as if the few thoughts in his brain had vanished when Link appeared. He hardly breathed.

Link yawned, and Sidon startled to life.

“Link!” he shouted, twitching like he wanted to bound across the room. “You must be Link!”

Link stepped back, and his knuckles cracked at his side.

“You look just like Mipha described!” Sidon said. “Which is, um, good! You look good.” His eyes widened at what he’d said. “I mean, you’re normal. You’re—oh, never mind.”

Link and Ganondorf shared a look, and Ganondorf had a dreadful feeling about this.

Sidon beamed. “I’ve heard so many amazing things about you! Are you the hero who’s been going around protecting people with a rope and staff?”

Wait, what?

Ganondorf didn’t know where to start with that statement, or what was worse: the implication that Link had been out doing heroics, or the fishman making googly eyes at him.

Link leaned back, and signed, “Please go away.”

“Oh, are you deaf?” Sidon said aloud, then switched to slow, hesitant signs. “My sister signs. I know a little.”

He fingerspelled his name. Link’s frown deepened.

“Go _away.”_

Sidon’s hands stopped, brow furrowing as he tried to understand. He glanced toward Ganondorf.

The vigilante had been defending people with a staff and rope. Rope not unlike Link’s _climbing gear,_ and a staff just like his _telescope_. Gods blast it all to the abyss.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Sidon’s voice got Ganondorf’s attention. He glanced to the Zora, who was now fidgeting with his claws. Link, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to melt into the floor—and was deliberately not meeting anyone’s gaze.

Ganondorf took a deep breath, and fought to keep his voice level.

“Link isn’t seeing visitors now.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Sidon said. “I just wanted—”

No sooner had he turned to Ganondorf than Link bolted up the stairs.

Sidon sputtered, and his head-tail drooped at the sound of the retreating footsteps. His gills flared in embarrassment, and he coughed.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was being too much, wasn’t I?”

Ganondorf sighed, and crossed his arms. “Yes.”

It was a blunt way to speak to a prince, but Sidon needed bluntness.

The Zora slumped. The sight of a ten-foot-tall shark-person huddling in on himself should have been comical, but there were bigger issues to worry about now.

Perhaps Sidon was talking out of his blow-hole. Perhaps his sister or the attendant had misspoken. Perhaps it was some _other_ teenage Gerudo boy...although Ganondorf had to admit how unlikely that was.

The trickle of dread grew colder, and pooled in the bottom of his stomach. If Sidon _wasn’t_ wrong, then Link had been rescuing people—rescuing Hylians, and other citizens of Hyrule, the people he was supposed to despise. After the Hyruleans had _murdered_ nearly all Link’s friends. After Ganondorf had entrusted him with missions to take vengeance upon the perpetrators.

No. There was no way. Link wouldn’t betray his own father.

_He’s killed you in every life before._

Beside him, Sidon heaved a sigh, and his gaze dropped to the box in his hands. Ganondorf held back a frown. The longer the Prince of Zorana stayed, the more likely he’d find something incriminating, or bring up a revelation somehow _worse_ than this one.

“Prince Sidon,” Ganondorf said, and Sidon bumped his head on the ceiling. “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to thank him.” A watery smile graced his features. “Your son is a hero to many people.”

Ganondorf closed his eyes, trying not to scowl at the word “hero.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

Sidon’s voice warmed. “You must be proud of him.”

“Of course,” Ganondorf said. “Very proud. Did you want anything else?”

Sidon held up the box.

“Can I leave this for him? I don’t expect acknowledgment, I know that’s...” He wavered. “I thought it might make him feel appreciated.”

Ganondorf crossed his arms. “It isn’t armor, is it?”

“No!” Sidon’s gills flared. “I wouldn’t—I don’t even know his size—I mean, no!”

Ganondorf relaxed marginally. At least he didn’t have to fend off an interspecies marriage proposal on top of everything else. That _would_ be worse.

He gestured to the table. “Leave it there.”

Sidon did as instructed, and gave what he probably thought was a winning smile. The sharp, far-too-many teeth slightly detracted from the effect.

“May I visit again?”

Ganondorf gave him a long, flat look, and spoke in a carefully neutral tone.

“Do you think Link wants that?”

Sidon blinked. His smile slowly shrank, and his head-tail sagged.

“Well,” he said, brightening too quickly, “thank you for your hospitality. I wish you both health and safety!”

He turned and hurried out the door, contorting as awkwardly as before, tail knocking over a vase as he left. Ganondorf rolled his eyes. Thank Din he’d switched to wooden ones years ago.

He opened the box. Inside was a cylindrical pendant made of luminous stone, wrapped in a leather sheath. Beside it lay a note card: “So you may never be without a light to guide your way.”

The sappy gesture was hardly appropriate to a government official’s visit. Perhaps Sidon really had come because of his own interest, and not as an attempt to spy on or recruit Link. But though the pendant seemed harmless, Zora magic nearly equaled the Sheikah’s—it could hold a listening spell, or a tracking charm.

Ganondorf shut the box and set it aside. Sidon’s motives and the pendant were worrying, but he had a bigger problem hiding at the top of the stairs. Hopefully, Sidon had been wrong, but hoping wasn’t enough.

Ganondorf took a deep breath, steeled himself, and ascended the stairs to Link’s room.

On the walls, Link had hung up his rope, grappling hooks, steel cable, and other climbing equipment—which, on closer inspection, bore the marks of recent use. His telescope leaned at the corner of a wall, and a large, half-built crossbow lay on his desk. More innocuous interests filled his bookshelves: botany and physics texts, design sketches, his renewed collection of strange things in jars.

Link lay on his bed, blocking the light with his pillow. Ganondorf would have liked nothing better than to walk out of the room, but pretending wouldn’t solve anything. He pulled up Link’s chair to face the bed, sat down, and waited.

Link’s fingers tightened around the pillow, but he made no other response.

“Link,” Ganondorf said aloud.

One ear flicked toward him.

“We are going to talk about this,” Ganondorf said. “And you are going to tell me what Sidon meant.”

Link finally pulled the pillow from his face. “Sidon should mind his own business.”

“Though I agree with that statement, it is irrelevant. What did he mean when he said you were ‘protecting people’?”

Link’s hands dropped against his chest, and didn’t move.

Ganondorf sighed. Fine, then. They could do this the hard way.

“He said,” Ganondorf recalled, “a person had been going around saving people from criminal attacks. A person who used a staff and rope, and whose description matched yours perfectly.”

Link grunted.

“The Yiga spoke of a vigilante,” Ganondorf continued, “who’d been sabotaging their operations. They assumed it was General Urbosa, or a Sheikah agent.”

He crossed his arms, and waited. Link’s hands remained still.

“But it wasn’t either of them,” Ganondorf said, “was it?”

Link shot him a tired glare.

Ganondorf met his gaze. “What have you been doing during your night outings?”

At last, Link shuffled up to a sitting position. He shoved the pillow aside.

“Making maps,” he signed. “Gathering information. Finding the daruk. Exactly what you asked me to do.”

Ganondorf sighed. “And helping the Hylian government?”

“I wasn’t _trying_ to help.” Link’s hands struck the air in protest. “They just happened to find out—”

“You’re telling me it ‘just happened’ repeatedly?”

Link’s eyes darted away, and he rubbed his neck. It was uncommonly recalcitrant, for him. But then, he _was_ a teenager, albeit a responsible, trustworthy one.

Or so Ganondorf had thought.

“It’s not like I went looking for trouble,” Link signed. “I stayed away from the main roads, kept to myself, you know how I am.”

“Yet somehow, you managed to find it.” Ganondorf kept his tone level, but firm. “You pursued it, when you could have walked away.”

Link pursed his lips, a spark of fire in his gaze

“I couldn’t leave people to get hurt.”

“They’re not like the monsters,” Ganondorf said. “Any of them would sell you out for a rupee if they could.”

Link groaned. “I know.”

“The Hylians killed your mother and friends, or have you forgotten?”

“I remember.”

“Then why?”

Link hung his head, avoiding eye contact for a long time. At last, he signed again.

“I saw a woman in trouble. And I thought, losing my friends was so much for me—I still get angry thinking about it. I get angry about _Varuq_ now, and I never knew her. What if that woman was someone’s mom? What if that was the start of some other family going through the same pain we did?”

“Then they would deserve it,” Ganondorf said, “for what they did to us.”

Link frowned, and shook his head.

“Arrow and Sunshroom were killed by soldiers. Not by regular people trying to make ends meet.”

Ganondorf waved that away. “A false distinction. The royal family recruits soldiers _from_ these regular people. Even a normal family could produce a murderer.”

Link bit his lip, ducking his chin.

“You have to consider the larger picture,” Ganondorf said. “This is not about you, or me, or the individuals you see on your missions. It’s about preventing incidents like what happened to your mother and friends from continuing on a massive scale. The citizens of this town profit from such deaths.”

Link looked troubled. “Maybe so.”

“You know we are not the only people trying to amend this injustice. There are other subversives, whose methods are more... _direct_ than ours. If you want change, you shouldn’t be hindering them.”

“Dad, the Yiga are trying to kill people.”

“People who are either murderers, or accomplices of murderers.”

“But even murderers have families.”

When had his son become so argumentative?

“If you let a murderer die,” Link signed, “you’re not just punishing them. You’re hurting everyone who loves them.”

Ganondorf rubbed his forehead, and tried not to sigh. That explained why no Yiga had been killed. His son cared too much for his own good.

“Just because I was hurt,” Link signed, “doesn’t mean I want others to hurt in the same way. Everyone is somebody’s Sunshroom or Arrow.”

Ganondorf stared at him. Hyrule had given Link the worst trauma of his life, took away the closest people he had to family, drove him from his home and upended his way of life, and Link turned it into a reason to be _kind._ Where was the righteous anger? Where was the thirst to _show_ the Hyruleans what it felt like to lose?

Link coughed, and cracked his knuckles. “Even if they deserved to die, that doesn’t mean their loved ones deserve to grieve.”

Ganondorf shook his head. “Regardless, it wasn’t your job to intervene. Better for someone else to, who didn’t have to worry about drawing attention.”

“But what would that say about me?” Link pointed to himself. “I don’t want to be a person who leaves others to suffer.”

Ganondorf’s eyebrows shot up. “You want to be a _hero?”_

“No,” Link signed. “I just...I don’t want to be useless when people are in trouble.”

The words sent an old, familiar pang through Ganondorf’s heart: an echo of his own frustration, when Varuq had kept him off the front lines, and the grandmothers had forbidden him to fight. He’d armed himself with the magic of a dying spirit, and Link had armed himself with technology, using the rope and telescope. Like father, like son.

 _Except that you’re not his father,_ said a voice at the back of his head, _and he was born to murder you._

Ganondorf pushed that thought away. Their futures would be different this time. He simply needed to change tactics.

“It would be one thing,” he signed, “if you were only putting yourself at risk.”

Link furrowed his brow. “What?”

“But these excursions don’t just affect you. They put _me_ at risk of losing you as well.”

Link’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“Even if you stuck to helping people in safe situations, it would draw attention to you, me, and Fork,” Ganondorf signed. “Fork would likely be killed, and as for me...”

He didn’t need to finish that statement. Link slumped, and his motions were slow and listless.

“I never wanted to put you in danger.”

Ganondorf lay a hand on his shoulder. “I know you didn’t.”

“Sorry.” He gulped. “I’m too soft, I guess.”

That was one way to put it, but not the most accurate way. Ganondorf glanced toward Link’s hand. The glamour hid the Triforce of Courage from view, but it certainly wasn’t gone.

Ganondorf had never investigated how that magic was supposed to benefit the Hero. But if the blasted charm had been influencing his son, he wouldn’t stop at Hyrule. He’d invade the realm of the gods and hold them accountable himself. In the meantime, all he could do was ask Link to suppress it.

“Promise me,” he said aloud, “that you won’t go committing any more heroics.”

Link grimaced, but nodded.

“No more night trips,” Ganondorf said. “You will only travel in the day, and only with me to accompany you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can. This is for _my_ peace of mind.”

Link averted his eyes, but made no reply.

Ganondorf’s stomach grew cold. Acquiescence felt worse than the argument.

“Link.”

Link glanced up. “Hmm?”

“I...” He took a deep breath. “I may not agree with what you did, but I understand why you did it. You were trying to do what you thought was right.”

Link swallowed. He pressed his lips together and nodded.

“And,” Ganondorf said, “I want you to know...my disapproval of your actions is not a disapproval of _you._ ”

Link let out a humorless chuckle.

“I know,” he signed. “It’s because you’re my dad and you were worried.”

“Precisely,” he said. “Regardless of today, I’m still proud of you.”

“Even if I do stupid things sometimes?”

“You are _not_ stupid.” Ganondorf crossed his arms, but kept his voice level. “At times, you can act somewhat reckless or misguided, but you are not stupid. And no matter what happens, you will always be my son. Is that clear?”

Link’s eyes widened. He blinked, swallowed, and took a few moments to sign.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Ganondorf clapped him on the shoulder, and stood. He went to leave the room, when another idea occurred to him.

“One more thing,” he signed. “No befriending government officials—”

Link jerked up. “I didn’t!”

“And certainly no dating them. That includes fish people.”

Link’s hands fumbled in the signed equivalent of indignant sputtering.

“Granted,” Ganondorf said, unable to resist a joke, “I’m sure he’s a _nice_ fish-boy, but he can’t fit through the door—”

“ _Dad!”_

Ganondorf chuckled, and left, returning to his study. But as he closed the door behind him, he slumped.

 _Today_ , _he’s saving Hylians from Yiga. Tomorrow, he might be saving Hyrule._


	14. Ghost

Ganondorf got no sleep that night, his thoughts whirling, retracing his steps, searching for where he’d gone wrong. He gave up on sleep in the dark hours of morning, and paced in his study.

How could Link fight for the people who’d hurt him so badly? Weren’t teenagers supposed to be self-absorbed and rebellious? Not responsible, or protective, or gods forbid, _forgiving_.

He groaned, and collapsed in his desk chair, rubbing a hand where his head ached. Hidden in his desk was the rolled-up map, the one with potential troop movements drawn and crossed out. Yesterday, he’d gladly shared it with Link, strategizing how to best counter the Hyrulean army’s tactics. Link had anticipated a rout without ever seeing a battle. It would be incredible to see what he could come up with when given better information.

_Assuming he doesn’t turn around and tell the Hyrulean army about the plan._

The prospect sent cold lightning down his spine, but he couldn’t rule it out.

Would he betray his father—the man he thought was his father? Ganondorf shook his head. Honestly, Link had been an easy child, once Ganondorf figured out how to work with his quirks. As far as he could tell, they got along better than most teenage boys did with their parents.

And yet.

And yet, despite his best efforts, his son had turned out scathingly, incorrigibly _heroic_. Heroic, like his previous incarnations, who would go to the abyss and back to save Gorons, Zora, even stupid little Koroks. Heroic, which always ended in Link killing him.

_You could have avoided this, if you really had dropped him on his head as a child._

Perhaps. But then Link would never have learned to speak with his hands, or create melodies as effortlessly as other people could blink, or take apart machines and rebuild them into something better. He wouldn’t have brought home plants and animals to pore over, catalogue, and wring every last bit of knowledge from them. He wouldn’t have been Link, strange and brilliant, and utterly unwilling to compromise who he was.

Link, who wouldn’t compromise what he believed to be right, even if it meant defending Hyruleans.

If Ganondorf attacked the city, where would Link’s loyalties fall?

He pinched the bridge of his nose. His thoughts had been circling like this since last night, and hadn’t gotten any closer to an answer. He couldn’t ponder forever: most of the regional chiefs and governors would leave the city in a few days. He had to cut off the government’s head now, when he could take them all out in one strike, with or without Link at his side.

His headache was getting worse, and the edges of his vision grew dark.

* * *

Ganondorf was running.

He ran as long as his lungs would bear it, weaving through the corridors of Hyrule Castle, dodging stones as the keep fell to pieces around him. The hole in his chest had reopened, and warm blood was soaking through his coat.

Something was chasing him. Something unseen, but its gaze burned on his back. He ducked into an alcove, panting, and summoned a fireball in his hand.

The fire wouldn’t come.

He gaped, lungs spearing him with every breath, hand stubbornly empty. The Triforce of Power had vanished. He had no other weapon. And his pursuer was getting closer.

He drew a deep breath that felt like acid being pouring down his throat, pushed off the wall, and kept running. He ran past walls collapsing into rubble, past furniture burnt to ash, past a room full of Gerudo who looked at him with disgust.

He made it out of the citadel, into a courtyard, and called out for his army. But no sooner had he shouted than he saw them, mangled bodies littering the ground. Moblins, bokoblins, skeletons. Their blood pooled like spiderwebs between the stones, and the air hung thick with clouds of flies.

“There he is!”

The Gerudo were chasing him too, now. Their faces were melting into Hylian faces. He ran.

The city had been razed to rubble, a shattered heap of wood, rocks, fire and dust where civilization had been. The smell of smoke and rotting flesh choked the air. The cobblestone streets had crumpled like paper. The sun had vanished, and the stars were falling from the sky. Wails rang out between crashes of wood and stone.

He stopped in front of a heap of stone that had been his townhouse. Link was nowhere to be seen. But he had to be alive, _must_ be alive, if Ganondorf could find him.

He felt the eyes of his pursuer again, and fled toward the only building left intact: the Temple of Time. The gods themselves wouldn’t let the temple fall. If Link were smart, he’d be there.

Ganondorf ducked behind one of the city’s few remaining walls, through a side-gate into the castle courtyard, wincing as his steps sloshed through a half-inch of blood. He dodged the eyes of the Gerudo-Hylian guards and made it to the Temple of Time. Chest burning, he collapsed against the door and heaved with all his strength against it.

It didn’t move.

“Come on,” he whispered, and swallowed bile in his throat. “Damn you, Hylia, if there were ever a time—”

The door barely rattled as he shook its handle. His pursuer’s steps echoed through the courtyard, slow and heavy, and Ganondorf finally turned around. The shadows hung thick, fire and starlight outlining the approaching figure, but Ganondorf would have recognized him anywhere.

“Link!”

Link, his son, who was safe and uninjured. Link, whose Triforce mark glowed against the shadows, and who wore the same green tunic as his previous life. Link, whose eyes were blue.

Unconsciously, Ganondorf pressed his back against the temple door.

“Link,” he said again. “We need to leave, it’s not safe here.”

Link met his eyes, but did not reply. He kept walking forward, expressionless face framed by Hylian brown hair.

“It’s me,” Ganondorf signed. “Your dad.”

Link stopped. His hand rose to his chest, and Ganondorf was ready to read his answer. But the hand kept going up, up and over his shoulder, and drew the Master Sword from its sheath on his back. With his hands full, Link had no way of signing—no _intention_ to.

He wasn’t the Link Ganondorf knew anymore.

“Don’t do this,” Ganondorf said. “I’m your father. You don’t want to do this.”

“ _Liar.”_

The voice jarred him, and he looked around for the speaker before it came again.

“ _You’re a liar and a coward.”_

The Hero was speaking, a soft monotone, as any other person would discuss cattle-prices. His hand flicked the blade back and forth, like a cat’s tail as it prepared to pounce.

“ _You thought you could hide from your past,”_ he said. “ _Thought you were above consequences.”_

Ganondorf should have run. But every vein in his body had frozen, and it was all he could do to keep his eyes on his son.

“ _Not your son,”_ the Hero said. “ _You even managed to lie to yourself.”_ He shook his head, face emotionless. “ _A liar, a coward, and a fool.”_

Every word stabbed at Ganondorf, and his chest was bleeding again, red dots dripping onto the temple steps. He tried to speak, but couldn’t draw breath. The Hero advanced closer, too close, sword pointed at Ganondorf’s heart.

“ _Men like you can never change,”_ he said. _“The truth always comes out eventually.”_

He lunged, and the world went black, and Ganondorf was falling, plummeting, hands grasping at him and shaking him back and forth—

“Ah!”

He blinked, and he was in the townhouse, Link’s hands on his shoulders.

Link, whose eyes were amber.

He was making worried noises, but the words were gone, those damnable words that should never have come from his mouth. His tone and face were eloquent enough.

“Link,” Ganondorf said, and Link let out a tight breath, whole body relaxing.

Ganondorf pushed Link’s arms away, and Link let him, though he hovered at his side. The townhouse was perfectly intact around them, sunlight filtering through the eastern windows, low rumbles coming in from the busy street outside. It was to all appearances a normal day.

“Dad?”

Ganondorf had never been so glad to see that sign.

“Are you alright?” Link asked. “You weren’t responding at all.”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“You sure?” Link tilted his head, Gerudo-red hair brushing his cheek. “What’s the date? How many fingers am I holding up?”

Ganondorf waved that away, and stood. The floor lay still under his feet, and he strode to the window, confirming the banality of the city around them.

“Just an old memory,” he signed. “Unpleasant, but not dangerous.”

Link hummed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I do not.”

Link raised an eyebrow, and Ganondorf resolutely ignored it.

“Alright,” Link signed. “But if you ever do...”

It was strange, watching Link now. Ganondorf had forgotten how blank the Hero looked in previous lives, how precise and efficient his movements were. The Link he knew spoke with his whole body, constantly, from ears tensing in suspicion, to twitching one foot when he was planning mischief. It was the body language of someone open and communicating: different from most people, but clear if one knew how to listen.

The body language of his Hylian self, however...It resembled nothing so much as an exterminator, killing another rat.

The dream haunted Ganondorf for the rest of the day. So did Link, who popped into the study several times without bothering to make up an excuse. It would have been heartwarming, except that his face looked like the phantasm that had rejected Ganondorf so viciously. Or perhaps not viciously: historically, it was their normal dynamic, and the past fifteen years were the aberration. Ganondorf pursued vengeance, and the Hero pursued him, like an eternal game of cat and mouse.

Except that Sheikah magic had surpassed his own, and if the Hero caught him this time, he wouldn’t get another chance. He’d meant to avert it by raising Link as an ally, even involving him in Ganondorf’s mission, but…

_He will turn on you. He always does._

Ganondorf couldn’t afford that risk. Not anymore.

He certainly wasn’t going to kill Link. The prospect of restraining or locking him up made acid churn in Ganondorf’s stomach. All it would take was a single hurt look, and Ganondorf would let him go, free to sabotage Ganondorf’s plans.

Damn his sentimental heart.

There was only one way left to pursue conquest without a confrontation: Link could not be present when Ganondorf set the attack into motion. Afterward _,_ yes—once Ganondorf had enough minions in the city to prevent Link from seeing anything damning, or interacting with people who could provoke any heroics. Then, all he needed was to get Link and Zelda in the Temple of Time long enough to unite the Triforce. If he was convincing enough, Link would stay on his side afterward.

But Ganondorf had to enact his plan soon, before the regional leaders scattered. And during that time, he needed Link out of the picture.

As they ate dinner that evening, Ganondorf signed, “I owe you an apology.”

Link lay down his fork and looked up. “About what?”

“You’re not happy in the city. It was wrong for me to make you come with me.”

Link tilted his head, a slight frown on his features. “I don’t blame you.”

“You’re more than capable of taking care of yourself,” Ganondorf continued, “especially in the wilderness. So if that’s where you want to live, that’s where you should be.”

Link leaned back, eyes widening in shock. He blinked a few times, as if waiting for a punchline, before confusion spread across his face.

“I thought you wanted to do your work here?”

“I will. But _you_ will be going home.”

“I could help you,” Link signed. “Is it research? Finding things? Getting into the castle? I’ll be happy to help, maybe that could get it done faster.”

“ _No_ ,” Ganondorf said, more harshly than he intended. Link drew back.

“That is,” Ganondorf softened his tone, “I appreciate your help, but I cannot expect you to stay where you are unhappy for my sake.”

“I don’t mind.” Link shrugged, and waved a hand dismissively. “Not if it’s for a good cause.”

This was not a good cause. It was a very bad cause, in fact. And though Ganondorf would have loved to have Link by his side, wreaking havoc on Hyrule together, his son wasn’t bad _enough._

Ganondorf sighed. “You’re too good, my boy.”

It wasn’t a compliment.

“I know.” Link grinned. “What is it that’s so important, you have to stay here?”

“Link,” Ganondorf said, adding Link’s sign-name for emphasis. “I’m sorry, but this is something you _cannot_ assist me with.”

Link’s grin fell apart, and he raised his hands to argue, but Ganondorf spoke over him.

“The best way you can help is to be far from the capital. I cannot tell you why. You know there have always been matters I prefer to handle alone.”

His son blinked, rapidly. “You’re sending me away?”

The words cut straight to his heart, and it was almost enough to make Ganondorf recant. Almost.

Link’s gaze dropped to the floor, hands still.

“It won’t be forever,” Ganondorf signed. “You can rejoin me, eventually. Then we’ll leave this wretched place for good.”

One day, probably soon, that would come true. Once the Hyrulean forces were crushed and the princess was in his hands, Link would provide the last piece of the Triforce, and Ganondorf’s vengeance would be realized.

They only needed to hold on a little longer, and then everything would be settled.

It took all night and into the morning for Link to decide what to pack. He hadn’t brought much from Ular, but in a few months he’d accumulated another hoard of bottled bugs, plants, dirt, and things that Ganondorf tried not to look closely at.

“If you leave anything here that’s rotting, I _will_ throw it out.”

Link’s head jerked up from his messy spot on the floor. He set down the jars of Din-knew-what.

“Not rotting, _pickling,”_ he signed _._ “That’s what the rice vinegar is for. It prevents organic material from decaying.”

“I respect your enthusiasm and do not share it in the slightest,” Ganondorf said. “You can take it with you if it matters that much.”

Once Link figured out which of his terrible trinkets to keep, Ganondorf accompanied him to the docks. Link had his bag slung over his shoulder, but his hands hung down for the whole walk to the docks. His face had shuttered again, and he didn’t make eye contact until they were on the pier, waiting for the passenger ship to open boarding.

“Wait,” Link signed. “Where’s Fork?”

Fork poked out from the collar of Ganondorf’s coat. “I’m staying here.”

Link’s face fell. “You mean I’m going alone?”

“You’ve gone on more dangerous excursions before,” Ganondorf signed.

“Yes, but...” His hands stopped.

“Sorry, twerp.” She waved. “Got work to do with the boss.”

Link frowned, probably wondering what a mouse could do that he couldn’t. He drew a deep breath, and let it out, but the tightness didn’t leave his shoulders.

“Dad?”

Ganondorf inclined his head. “Yes?”

Link’s eyes were averted, and his shoulders hunched.

“Is this about the...heroics I wasn’t supposed to be doing?”

_Yes._

“It’s about your well-being,” Ganondorf said. “That is all.”

Link swallowed, eyes still downcast.

“I know you trusted me with an important mission, and I let you down.” His gaze darted up. “I promise I won’t let you down again.”

At that, an old wound hurt in Ganondorf’s heart.

“Link, there is something you need to understand.”

Link visibly braced himself.

“You have _never_ let me down. You’re brave, clever, independent, and too kind for your own good. I may have difficulty with it sometimes, but as your father I have nothing but pride for you.”

Link’s eyes widened. He blinked a few times, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“...Thanks.”

“I want you to listen to me,” Ganondorf signed, “when I tell you to go home. Think of it as a break from this wretched city.”

Link snorted, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Promise me that _you’ll_ stay safe?”

Despite himself, Ganondorf chuckled. “Of course I will.”

“Be careful about the Sheikah,” Link signed insistently. “And the royals. Their security is better than the Yigas’.”

Ganondorf chuckled. “Do not worry. I have been outsmarting them longer than you know.”

Link bit his lip, but nodded. The first call for boarding went out.

Ganondorf glanced toward the ship. “It’s time.”

Link turned toward the line of passengers filing down the ramp and trickling to their cabins. For a moment, his grip tightened around the bag on his shoulder, before he dropped it to the ground.

“Link, what are you—”

Link reached forward and wrapped him in a hug.

It was awkward, and hurt, in a way that the sword through his chest never had. It hurt like the hug Varuq had given him before she’d left for the war, but this time, Ganondorf was on the other side. It hurt like Link thought he might never get the chance to do this again.

“It’s going to be alright,” Ganondorf said, patting Link’s back. “It’s only for a while.”

Link nodded against his shoulder. The boarding attendant shouted her second call for passengers.

Reluctantly, they let go, and Link slung his bag over his shoulder. Then he turned, walking down the ramp to the ship below. He paid the attendant, and grabbed onto the railing of the deck. Ganondorf waved to him, and watched the ship embark on its journey south.

It was for the best, Ganondorf thought as the ship disappeared through the city gates. It had to be.


	15. Combatant

The fire started in the palm of Ganondorf’s hand.

He knelt, lowering the flame into the center of the summoning circle. He’d inscribed it in ram’s blood and reeds on the floor of the townhouse, right at the city’s heart. With a flick of his wrist, the reeds caught fire.

At three points equidistant from the townhouse, a windmill, waterwheel and smithy each went up in flames. Columns of black smoke emanated from each one, drifting to meet over the castle, congealing and massing into something more substantial.

That’s when the screams started.

Ganondorf rose from the circle, Fork hanging onto his shoulder. He tamped the fire out; it had served his purpose. He glamoured himself invisible, and strolled out into Market Square, where the less intelligent residents had stopped to gape up at the sky. The smarter ones were running.

The smoke blotted out the sun, shadowing the capital in twilight. At the sky’s zenith, a darker mass writhed and cracked, before bursting through the clouds in a shower of fire. A burning, skeletal creature wormed its way through the air on skinless, featherless wing-bones. Six arms, each thirty feet long, ended in scythe-like claws, each again as tall as a Gerudo. The blades clicked and jabbed like scythes through the air. It had a skull like a stag’s, with antlers that tore at the sky itself, white flames sparking where eyes should have been.

It was the perfect apocalyptic machine.

The streets broke with the wail of air-sirens. A squadron of Rito in luminous clothing swept out from the Sheikah Center, herding the townsfolk through the evacuation routes. This time, nobody protested.

Ganondorf floated up to avoid the crowd. Fork dug into the fabric of his cloak with her claws. The Belgorath could wipe out this whole miserable city, given time. And yet, as he watched the civilians streaming out below him, something caught his eye.

Between the Goron longhouses, there was a red-haired Hylian boy, struggling to assist an injured Goron. He couldn’t have been any older than Link, and would have looked much the same, save for his light skin.

Even murderers had families.

Ganondorf turned away from the city, toward the skeletal behemoth above him.

“Belgorath,” he said, “destroy the castle. Keep the princess alive. The rest of the city...”

Down in the longhouses, he couldn’t see the boy or Goron anymore.

“Leave the rest of the city intact.”

The Belgorath let out a blood-curdling screech. It plunged through the air, hurtling toward the castle and smashed a battlement to pieces with one crash of its bony tail. The guards scrambled for a defense. They shot crossbow bolts and bullets from below, and rained explosives from above. The bolts and bullets did nothing. The explosives occasionally hit, sending a bone flying, only for it to fly back into place with the force of abyssal magic.

Ganondorf snorted. As if he would summon a monster that could be defeated by mortal means.

He did not need to destroy the whole city. There were resources his future legions could use, after all, and it was easier to rule a nation from a capital that was intact. However, the same couldn’t be said for Hyrule Castle. He’d be replacing it with a more suitable—

A collision rocked Ganondorf in midair. He spun around, only to see the same blasted Rito from the Sheikah Center.

The Rito shook himself. His head jerked around in bewilderment.

“What in Farore's fluffy cloaca—”

This was the last thing Ganondorf needed, and he couldn’t fireball it without attracting attention. Fortunately, he had more discreet options. Like punching that overgrown turkey in the face. The Rito went flying backward with an indignant squawk, and Ganondorf floated higher to avoid colliding with him again.

“Fork,” he said. “Keep an eye out for the princess.”

She released her front paws to sign. “She’s kinda out of my range, boss.”

“No matter.”

He snapped his fingers, and she shifted back to bokoblin form, but with two important additions. Unlike the mouse-glamour, these would be permanent.

“Gah!” She fell through the air for a moment before figuring out how to hover with her new bat-like wings. “I was _not_ meant for this!”

“Too bad,” he said. “Fly wherever you need to, and track the princess. Alert the Belgorath if it starts hitting too close to her.”

He gestured to the castle, where the guards pointlessly fired at the behemoth. Fork let out an unhappy gurgle.

“Don’t suppose you could toss in some invisibility while you’re at it? I’d rather not become a boko-pincushion.”

He crossed his arms and gave her his most patronizing glare.

“You’re black. The sky is black. Everyone is looking at the Belgorath. If you get hit, it’s your own fault.”

She sighed. “Love you too, boss.”

With that snippy remark, she flew off, swerving as she figured out how to steer.

On the eastern wall, General Urbosa shouted orders to line up and prepare the counter-attack. They were wheeling out cannons now, not that those would work any better. On the keep, the princess herself ran about, shouting to medics whenever a soldier went down, and calling out when she saw people who needed help evacuating.

The castle’s more loathsome residents scurried out like the rats they were. Unlike the peasants, who filed out through the streets, air or river in lines, the Hylian nobles flew off on the backs of Rito. The Goron inhabitants stretched their arms over the Gerudo and Zora as they fled, turning themselves into living shields. Only the army remained to defend the fortress—them and their princess. It would have been heartwarming, if they weren’t the enemy.

The scent of smoke drifted Ganondorf’s way. Strange. He was floating upwind of the castle, and should have smelled nothing. He turned back towards the city. A series of fires had erupted, scattered through neighborhoods as if at random. It looked as if the sparks had skipped the upper-class and merchant districts, somehow gone downhill, and reached to the banks of the Zora pond. How had the Belgorath’s fire gotten _there?_

He left the Belgorath to do its job, and flew down. On closer look, the fires weren’t so random after all. Masked figures ran through the streets, hurling flaming oil onto the row houses, and stabbing any unlucky person they found: Yiga.

They stayed in the poorer areas, where the buildings were made of wood or thatch, and where there weren’t as many guards to defend citizens. They attacked stragglers: the elderly, the physically weak, the ones who hadn’t heard the siren at first. And when they did, it was always several Yiga against one victim.

Ganondorf narrowed his eyes. Perhaps Link hadn’t been so wrong to oppose them.

A ragged yelp made him look up. Fork was fluttering toward him at top speed.

“Boss!” she signed. “We have a problem! Look at the south side!”

Ganondorf scowled. “What is it? There’s no—”

“Just look!”

He drifted towards the south side of the castle, scouring the area for troublemakers. The southern towers had fallen, and nothing remained but rubble and the occasional body. Otherwise, there was little of interest. But in the wreckage of a collapsed wall, he spotted a small, cloaked figure climbing the debris.

A gust of wind from the city fires blew the cloak’s hood off, and Ganondorf recoiled in horror.

Link.

Link reached the top of the ruined wall. He stared down the Belgorath from a distance, and for a moment, Ganondorf dared believe that his son was only here to watch. His son, who was fascinated by strange things. His son, who was careful enough to evade the Sheikah.

Link cast aside his cloak, revealing a large, heavy crossbow strapped to his back.

Ganondorf groaned and closed his eyes. His son, who _protected_ people.

Link surveyed the soldiers around him: shooting, scrambling, defending the useless nobles trying to escape. He watched the crossbow bolts bounce off the Belgorath’s bones, the cannonballs that only knocked a vertebra loose for a moment before it returned. He watched the stones blacken as the Belgorath spewed jets of fire, and crumble when it smashed the castle with its tail.

While the chaos rolled around him, Link set the crossbow point-down, drawing the bowstring back with a hand-crank. He never took his eyes off the Belgorath.

Ganondorf reached out his hand, then retracted it, to pull the monster back. He could send it back out after getting Link to safety. Even if the princess escaped to Fort Akkala, he could afford to wait.

The Belgorath did not retreat.

Ganondorf’s brow furrowed, and he repeated the recall gesture. The Belgorath screeched, but continued to fly about the castle, hurling fire and shattering walls. A chilling pang of dread crept up his spine.

“What are you doing, you stupid beast?”

He raised up both hands, collected all his magic inside them, and gave it his most powerful command to retreat.

It twitched, and paused, before burning the stables to the ground.

“No,” Ganondorf whispered. “No, no, no...”

Down on the castle, Link picked up his bow under one arm. He ran into one of the remaining towers, and came out with a war hammer and a coil of steel cable almost as big as he was. He heaved it over his shoulders and set off in a run across the terrace. Around him, the air was thick with smoke, and rubble fell from above.

By this point the rest of the soldiers had noticed Link, and several tried to grab him. He was, after all, technically a civilian. But if Ganondorf’s legions couldn’t catch him, there was no way the guards of Hyrule could.

As the soldiers tried to catch up, General Urbosa watched carefully. She raised her hand, and shouted over the chaos.

“Let him fight!”

If Ganondorf didn’t hate her for betraying their people before, he certainly hated her now.

The soldiers let Link go. Not that they’d ever caught up to him, but they stopped trying to interfere with whatever he was trying to do. He ran up the steps of the tallest remaining tower, and pushed a soldier away from the cannon, before wrapping the cable around it.

Visions of the molduga fight coursed through Ganondorf’s head. Whatever his boy was planning, it had to be stopped. So Ganondorf gritted his teeth, and dove towards Link to pull him out of the fray.

Or rather, he tried to pull him out. Even as short as Link was, though he couldn’t see Ganondorf through the invisibility, he was much stronger than he looked—and the soldiers were all too willing to grab the invisible intruder and heave him off, sending him flying from the tower. Only years of experience enabled him to right himself before he hit the ground.

Link grabbed his crossbow and grappling hook. He attached the hook and cable to a crossbow bolt, loaded the bolt, and removed the crank. He took aim, slow and steady, like a viper rearing to strike. Nearly a full minute passed before the Belgorath flew within range, but when it did—

The bolt shot low, weighed down by a hundred feet of steel, but the heavy crossbow gave it enough power to overshoot the Belgorath’s head and catch on its eye socket. The Belgorath turned and hurled a jet of fire. Link barely dodged it behind a low wall.

He grabbed the war hammer, ran back to the cannon and wheeled it away from its post, cable dangling up towards the Belgorath. He took the cannon all the way to the tower’s edge, where the battlement had been smashed away, leaving a sheer drop a hundred feet down onto the ground. He glanced to the Belgorath, and pulled the cable as tight as it would go.

Then, he shoved the cannon over the edge.

Eight things happened at once. The smash of 8,000 pounds of iron onto stone. The crash of the Belgorath being dragged skull-first out of the sky, across the castle roof, straight toward Link. Link darting out of the way, leaping, hammer in hand, cables snapping as the Belgorath shook itself free—

Link landing on the Belgorath’s head and slamming the hammer into its skull.

“Mad,” Fork signed, slack-jawed. “He’s banana-boiling mad.”

Mad, yes. Link had always been a little mad, even in previous lives. But he usually didn’t set himself on _fire_ in the process.

Link clung to the Belgorath as it rose into the sky again, clenching his jaw through the flames racing across its surface. How he managed not to let go in agony was a mystery.

Ganondorf tried again to recall the Belgorath, then to dispel its magic completely. Neither worked. He started casting other spells, even those that had nothing to do summoning or protection, and found them useless as well. It was as if his powers had fled from him.

_So much effort for the Triforce, and yet you so quickly throw it away._

So he did. He could take the Triforce, or take the capital later. Link needed help _now._

_He was only ever a tool for taking vengeance._

That had been the plan. Foist Link off on minions to raise, isolate him from any knowledge or skills that could be turned against Ganondorf, and keep him safely tucked away until Ganondorf had use for him. But now, with panic rising in Ganondorf’s throat and his heart beating like a hummingbird, it was obvious how well _that_ idea had gone.

_He was a tool. A tool that is now hindering you._

With every slam of Link’s hammer, cracks etched deeper into the demon’s enormous skull, and its fire burned ever hotter. His clothes were charred black, his hands covered in burns. On the castle, the soldiers were now shouting encouragements.

_When a tool causes more problems than it solves, it should be thrown away._

No. Ganondorf could never do that. Not to Link. Whatever else he had been, he was Ganondorf’s son now.

Just when the skull was about to shatter, the Belgorath stopped thrashing. The soldiers went silent, and a noxious sense of wrongness snaked through the air.

_You will thank me for this later._

The Belgorath froze completely. Link repositioned his grip on the hammer. He hefted it for one more swing, and the Belgorath began to tip back.

And back.

Its spine inverted, and the skull swung backwards, hurtling toward the ground with Link underneath it.

Fork shrieked. She dove to catch him, but the Belgorath had slammed skull-first into the cobblestones, shockwaves ripping the neighborhood below into tatters.

“Stop!” Ganondorf shouted. “The soldiers are on the scene. You’ll get yourself killed.”

She sadly fluttered back up.

“Link...” Bokoblins couldn’t cry, but her hands trembled with terror. “Not the twerp...”

The soldiers were running, sprinting toward the fallen colossus, its fire now snuffed out, bones scattered over an entire city block. A thick pile of blackened fragments lay where its skull used to be. Where _Link_ used to be.

Somewhere, Ganondorf heard the distant sound of laughter.


	16. Casualty

Faeheart Hospital smelled like fish and antiseptic. It was a change from the soot and dust permeating the castle district, but not necessarily a better one. Particularly not when Ganondorf was trying to see his son.

“He’s in surgery,” the Zora nurse said. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait.”

Ganondorf crossed his arms, keeping his voice level. “When will he be out?”

The Zora and a Goron attendant shared a tense glance, and it made the gnawing in Ganondorf’s chest grow worse.

“It depends,” the Zora said. “His condition was...unusual, so it’s difficult to predict how long the procedure will take.”

“What do you mean _unusual?”_

Several other people in the waiting room glanced their way.

“What she means,” the Goron said in a low tone, “is that people injured like that are almost always dead on arrival.”

“Offrak!” the Zora snapped, nudging her coworker. She smiled at Ganondorf apologetically. “Please forgive my colleague. Your son is alive, we have the best healers in the ward assigned to him, and they’re doing everything they can. Excuse us, we have to attend to our other patients now.”

Ganondorf shook his head, and went to take a seat, recognizing the brush-off for what it was. One glare at his surroundings made the onlookers hurriedly turn away. He shut his eyes, exhaustion creeping up his spine. The hole in his chest was burning again.

Fire. Flight. Illusions. Summoning demons, commanding monsters. He had many kinds of magic, but one thing he’d never been able to do was heal. It hadn’t bothered him before, since the Triforce of Power kept his own life and body intact. But now he waited, while somewhere in the hospital Link was fighting for his life, and all Ganondorf could do was sit here, useless once more.

No, worse than useless. Even if he had healing abilities, the Belgorath had used up the dregs of his power, and the wound from the Master Sword had reopened. At this rate, it would take years for his magic to recover. Three hundred years waiting in the abyss, fifteen years waiting for his army to grow, and now he had to wait _again._ If he had the energy he would have wrung that stupid Zora’s neck.

As the minutes dripped by, more and more people came in, some needing medical care, others looking for their loved ones who’d been hurt or gone missing in the battle. Occasionally, he could hear the distant slam of the emergency doors as medical technicians rushed someone into urgent care. Patients who came in wounded but not bleeding out or unconscious were increasingly turned away.

“You must be joking,” declared a violet-feathered Rito—the same one Ganondorf had punched. “Can’t you see my wing’s broken?”

“I’m sorry, Captain.” The Goron nurse hung their head. “But we’re over capacity. We have to focus on patients whose lives are—”

“Never mind!” The Rito huffed. He stalked out as pompously as one could, holding his injured wing to his chest.

Ganondorf frowned at the exchange. Of course there would be casualties from his attack on the castle, but he’d kept away from the rest of the city, if only for Link’s sake. He’d even allowed most of the insipid nobles to escape. There shouldn’t have been enough wounded people to overrun a hospital, especially not one as large as Faeheart, with Sheikah _and_ Zora magic at its disposal.

Hours later, the Zora nurse called out, “Mr. Gandor?”

Finally.

He followed the nurse through shiny, spartan hallways that smelled of metal and soap, echoing with orders, moans of pain, and hurried footsteps. Exhausted healers shuffled between wards, most of them Hylians or Zora, but all races were represented in the beds and at the bedside. Every room was full, some with two people per bed, or with extra mattresses laid out on the floor.

To his surprise, most of the wounded were civilians. Their injuries ranged from stab wounds to shrapnel. Nearly all wore peasant clothing; the Yiga must have concentrated their attacks on poorer districts with less policing and more vulnerable targets. Ganondorf’s lip curled in disgust.

Other patients had come from the castle, but less than half were soldiers or nobles. The rest were servants, priestesses, petitioners, the odd tourist—people who had little say in their government’s corruption, but who suffered for it all the same.

There was a Hylian maid confined to a bed with burns up and down her arms, looking no older than Link. Another, a Rito of perhaps fourteen, had his wing hanging at an unnatural angle, and tried to suppress his whimpers as the healers set it into place.

The Zora led Ganondorf to the last ward, at the very back. As they approached, the hospital grew quieter. On the doors was posted a single word in Old Hylian, presumably one the staff would recognize but not the general public: “ _Permorta_.” Or, in modern terms: “Near death.”

He stopped before the doors, and the Zora held one open for him. Near death did not mean _gone_. It meant that whoever was in there was alive, barely. And it meant that Ganondorf didn’t have much time, in case…

He braced himself, and entered.

While the rest of the hospital buzzed with harried activity, this ward was silent except for the squeak of the healers’ feet on the tiles, and the occasional murmur of one clinician to another. They moved slowly, eyes heavy and half-lidded, using what little magic they had left to tend to their patients. Each victim was unconscious—mercifully so, considering that most of them had limbs crushed to a pulp, their torsos ripped open by swords, or suffered burns so bad their skin had melted from their bones.

Ganondorf skimmed his eyes over the room, trying not to linger on any of them. In one corner, a small Zora adolescent was practically asleep in a chair, only the occasional wince revealing that she wasn’t. Many of the healers were resting, or eating, trying to recharge their magic as quickly as possible in hope of saving as many as they could.

“He’s on the far left,” the Zora nurse murmured to him. “In the back.”

There, nearly hidden by bandages, Ganondorf spotted a lock of bright red hair.

He was at Link’s side immediately, torn between the relief of finding him, frustration that he couldn’t speak to Link or reassure him his father was here, and horror at how terrible Link looked.

He was...in one piece. That was good. His breaths were slow and shallow, but regular. The surgeon must have repaired his lungs first. Half his face and his entire upper torso and arms had been bandaged, presumably for burns. One arm was in a splint, swelling where it had been broken, laying at an odd angle. He wouldn’t be able to sign when he woke up.

He _would_ wake up. He had to. Please, Din, he had to. Ganondorf reached out to hold his bandaged hand.

“Don’t touch him.”

The Zora nurse had left, and the girl from the corner now stood at his side, her voice little more than a whisper.

“He’s fragile,” she said. “Any touch increases the risk of infection, or damaging his skin further.”

Ganondorf narrowed his eyes, but relented, moving his hand away.

“You’re a healer? You can’t be much older than he is.”

“I’m in training at the Zorana Academy of Medicine,” she said, words smooth as if she’d said this many times, “and I’m doing my internship here to learn about non-Zora patients.” She pointed to a copper-colored Goron nearby. “If you have any concerns about my competence, my supervisor is over there. Now, if I may continue?”

Ganondorf leaned back, grudgingly accepting. “By all means.”

“You’re his father?” she asked.

He nodded. “And you are?”

“Mipha Dorephania Zorana,” she answered.

He blinked. He’d heard of her during his research: the Zora princess famed for her healing skills. But it was hard to think of anything but Link.

“He just got out of surgery,” she said. “His condition is stable, but recovery is uncertain.”

Ganondorf’s eyes sparked. “Uncertain? You have Sheikah and Zora magic, and you’re _uncertain?”_

“We’re doing everything we can. But we can’t—”

“My son is covered in burns,” Ganondorf snapped. “His bones are broken, and he _isn’t waking up.”_

“ _Sir._ If you want to stay in this room, you need to calm down.”

Calm. How could he be calm when his son might be dying in front of him, and he couldn’t do anything about it? How in Din’s wrath could this child _dare_ tell him to be calm?

“Sit down,” Mipha ordered, pointing to a seat by Link’s bedside. “I want to inform you of your son’s condition, but I cannot do that unless you are _calm.”_

There it was: the hint of steel in her voice, like her father’s. A faint remnant from when her family had commanded armies. Ganondorf remained standing, out of old spite and instinct, but tamped his temper down.

“But he _will_ recover?”

Mipha lowered her gaze. “He won’t die. Not soon, at any rate.”

That wasn’t reassuring. “And when he’ll wake?”

“We don’t know if he’ll wake. It’s a miracle he was alive when we dug him out of the rubble.”

The ache in Ganondorf’s chest grew worse. He crossed his arms, as if to hold it in, and looked over his son’s unmoving body.

“How bad was it?”

Mipha lowered her voice. “Are you sure you want the details?”

“I do.”

She took a deep breath, and let it out. When she spoke, her tone was clinically distant.

“Blunt force trauma to the entire body. Traumatic brain injury. Third and fourth-degree burns over most of his skin. Severe smoke inhalation and respiratory damage. Internal and external hemorrhage, multiple organs punctured.” She looked down at Link, eyes unfocused. “He should have been dead several times over before we got to him.”

With every word, his heart grew heavier, and his nails dug into his elbows.

“Enough.” He ran a brown hand over his forehead. “Doesn’t sound like much of a miracle.”

She made a pained smile. “We take what we can get, on a day like this.”

“He’s still heavily injured. Can you treat that later?”

“Eventually,” she said. “We’re so busy, full treatment will have to be delayed.”

“How long?”

She surveyed the room, and patients in worse condition than Link. Distantly, they could hear the roar of the other wards and hallways, and the increasingly frequent slam of the emergency room doors.

“At least a couple of weeks,” she said, “depending on how many others were injured. We’re doing triage: as soon as one person is stable we have to save another.” She slumped, and rubbed her clawed hand over her forehead. “The sole reason I’m not healing people is because I exhausted my magic hours ago.”

“Then why are you here?” Ganondorf asked. “Surely your father would want you with him now.”

“There’s one more patient I have to see,” she said, smiling faintly. “Father will understand.”

In that moment, she no longer looked like a doctor-in-training, nor like the princess of Zorana. She looked like a girl, not even at her full height, who bore the weight of her country on her shoulders. She should have been playing, swimming, safe at home with her family. Instead, she’d stayed, to save people that Ganondorf nearly killed.

People like Link.

Ganondorf looked toward his son again. If this is what he looked like _after_ being stabilized…

A commotion erupted at the door.

“Where is he?” came a ragged voice. “I want to thank him personally.”

Princess Zelda was leaning on the door frame. Her arm was in a sling, and her clothes were covered in soot and grime. Her eyes darted across the ward.

A Hylian nurse said, “Princess, you’re wounded—”

Mipha jerked up, new light coming into her face.

“Get the others first,” said the princess. “I’ll live.”

The nurse said, “But your arm-”

“Won’t kill me. Come back when you’re done with life-threatening cases. That’s an order.”

“Zelda!” Mipha called, hurrying to her side.

Zelda calmed, and smiled back. “Mipha.”

Mipha scanned her body for wounds, and lay a hand on Zelda’s good arm.

“I’m so glad you’re alright. I’d heal you, but...”

“Of course. Don’t exhaust yourself. The hero who slew the titan, do we know them yet?”

Mipha pointed towards Link. “He’s stable but unconscious.”

Zelda frowned, and took a few steps closer. “But he will wake?”

“Well...”

“Right.” Zelda let out a long breath, and rubbed her hand. “We’ll have trust in Hylia.” She turned to Ganondorf. “You must be his father?”

Ganondorf regarded her coolly, ignoring the ache of his Triforce mark. “I am.”

“Tell him he has the thanks of Hyrule,” she said. “And that he can expect a knighting for his courage today.”

He tried not to scowl. “Certainly.”

She left, Mipha going with her, and then he was alone at Link’s side.

It was the cruelest irony: in the dozen lifetimes before this, he would have given anything to tear the Hero to pieces. He would have left him crushed, shattered, helpless like Ganondorf had been—and here it was.

Deep down, he’d never thought Link could die. Not after the Hero had beaten his armies to a pulp multiple times over, blown his fortresses to smithereens, walked away from fire and flood and poison like they were nothing. Even if Ganondorf did manage to kill him, he always returned in a few years.

But that didn’t make Ganondorf feel any better. And now Link was fighting a battle where Ganondorf couldn’t help him.

Then there was that voice that appeared at the end. At first, he’d assumed it was his own thoughts, and that he’d been doubting himself. But it had said, _“You’ll thank me for this later,”_ as if there was a “me” to be thanked. As if he would be grateful that whatever-it-was had tried to kill his son.

In the hospital bed, Link breathed slowly, but steadily. Alive. Despite the voice’s best efforts. Despite Ganondorf’s efforts.

He glanced about the ward. He listened. All around him were the clatter of medical equipment, the shuffle of footsteps on tile. He heard many voices: murmurs of reassurance from healers, sobs of relief and despair, the occasional moan of pain. But he didn’t hear the entity again. Everything felt normal—at least, as normal as could be expected in a crisis like this.

But it had felt normal when he summoned the Belgorath, too. It wasn’t until he’d tried to rein it in that the battle went awry. Had the voice come from the Belgorath itself? It wasn’t supposed to be intelligent, but the bokoblins weren’t supposed to be, either. And it was unprecedented for a demonic creature to destroy itself on purpose, let alone do so to “help” its master.

In any case, the Belgorath was shattered now. It couldn’t hurt Link anymore. Hopefully, the voice had gone with it.

He lay a hand next to Link’s, unwilling to risk wounding him any further.

“You have one more battle to fight, my boy. Keep fighting.”

* * *

He visited Link multiple times a day, until the healers lost patience and told him to stay out of the way. Mipha promised to send notice as soon as Link woke.

It hurt his heart to see his son laid up like that, another victim among many. He shouldn’t have been so fragile. He _hadn’t_ been so fragile, not in previous lifetimes.

Then again, in previous lifetimes, he’d had years of experience fighting beasts, monsters and spirits before taking on anything like the Belgorath, and he had more specialized equipment with which to tear monsters apart. To defeat a skeletal colossus with only a hammer, chain and crossbow, and a clever application of physics...it was incredible, and Ganondorf wasn’t surprised by his son’s ingenuity.

But ingenuity didn’t mean much when a hundred-foot-long demon slammed you into the ground and crushed you under thousands of pounds of bone.

As the days trickled by, the city came to a consensus that the Yiga had summoned the behemoth. A dozen Yiga foot soldiers had been arrested, but the Sheikah said nothing about what, if anything, they had learned from them. There were no rumors of an invisible Gerudo sorcerer, and no Sheikah came knocking on his door.

It was two weeks before Mipha sent for him. Ganondorf sat with crossed arms at Link’s bedside beside her. By then, she’d been able to spare enough magic for Link’s bones to set and to repair his organs, although the burns left red and purple blotches over his brown skin.

“How are his chances?”

Mipha sighed. “He stirred a little, half an hour ago. But we won’t know how much of him is in there until he wakes.”

Her head-tail no longer drooped with weariness, and her shoulders didn’t slump like she was carrying Lord Jabu-Jabu on her back. She examined Link solemnly, professionally, and Ganondorf resolved that when he conquered Hyrule he would leave her family alone.

His chest still ached where the Master Sword had stabbed it, and worse when he looked at Link. That, unfortunately, was one wound Zora magic couldn’t help.

He didn’t realize how tight his muscles had tensed until Link grunted, and Ganondorf had to stop himself from jumping up to examine him.

Link was always cranky when he woke, and this was no exception. His first act in the land of the living was to cover his eyes and let out a groan. The noise of the hospital didn’t help.

“Ah, there he is,” Mipha said.

She took Link’s hand in hers, and he tightly shut his eyes.

“It’s alright,” she said. “You’re safe. Squeeze my hand if you can understand me.”

He did as asked, and Ganondorf sagged in relief. Although he would have liked nothing better than to pull Link up and check him over himself, Link was too fragile. So he kept his arms crossed, and waited.

“I’m going to give you a check-up,” she said. “Can you tell me your name?”

Link blinked his eyes open, wincing again. His movements were slow and shaky, and he couldn’t move his arm enough to sign his proper name, but he managed to fingerspell.

“He signs instead of speaking,” Ganondorf said.

Mipha smiled, and signed back, “That won’t be a problem.”

Ganondorf revised his earlier decision. When he conquered Hyrule, he was going to _hire_ her.

Mipha asked Link a few more questions about the year (980 YH), the current queen (though Princess Zelda had a regent), whether he was in pain (no), and asked him to move his arms and legs (he could). His hands moved clumsily, and she had to repeat herself a few times, but he managed to answer everything.

“Great,” she signed, with a broader smile than before. “You’ll need a long time to recover, but you’re going to be alright.”

Ganondorf let out a long breath. “Thank you.”

At that, Link startled, noticing him for the first time. “Dad?”

“I’m here. You gave me quite a scare.”

“Mhm.”

He didn’t bother to sign—understandable, given how badly his hands shook. His eyes were drifting closed. Beside them, Mipha rose to her feet.

“Let him rest,” she signed. “He’ll be in and out for a few days before his sleep schedule’s back in order. But he’s past the hardest part, and now it’ll just take time.”

* * *

The next day, Link managed to sit up, already more alert. He turned over a shaky arm, examining the burn scars trailing up and down.

“How are you feeling?” Ganondorf signed.

Link grimaced in response. His hand drifted toward his neck, where Sunshroom and Arrow’s rings had dangled, before they’d been lost in the battle. Feeling their absence, he shut his eyes and swallowed. Ganondorf lay a small combination lock at Link’s side, pieces clinking, and Link picked it up to fiddle with. For several long minutes, he focused on it, before he felt steady enough to look up.

“What happened?” he signed.

“How much do you recall?”

“There was a monster attacking people.” Link frowned, thinking for a moment. “And fire.”

His hands still trembled, and he couldn’t make the full movements. The effect was like mumbling, and Ganondorf couldn’t read it all. But it was enough for a conversation.

“Do you remember fighting it?”

Link grunted. “I remember firing a crossbow. Not much after that.”

Ganondorf winced at the memory, and took a deep breath.

“You nearly died,” he said. “What were you thinking?”

Link shrugged, then hissed at the tug on his skin.

“I couldn’t just let it happen.”

“You could have,” Ganondorf said. “You never had to return at all.”

“And leave _you_ in danger?”

Ganondorf fell silent. Link narrowed his eyes.

“You were acting strange,” he signed. “And it sounded like, whatever it was, was something you didn’t want to affect me. Something you didn’t want the Hylian government to know about, either.”

“Link, I...” Ganondorf swallowed. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching them. “I want you to know that I wasn’t involved in the attack.”

_Liar._

Link snorted. “Obviously. That’d make you no better than the Hyruleans. Besides, I saw the Yiga.”

Guilt stabbed through Ganondorf’s heart, as sharp as any sword. “Ah.”

“You knew the Yiga were going to attack,” Link signed, “didn’t you? That’s why you sent me out of town. You didn’t want me to be in danger.”

“Right,” Ganondorf said. “Of course.”

 _You’re a liar and a coward_ , the nightmare had said.

If he continued on this path, he would have to fight Link. History would repeat itself. And one of them would end up dead. But if he didn’t continue, a thousand years of work would end in failure. His people’s struggles would be completely forgotten. Hyrule would never repay them for their suffering.

But was it worth risking Link’s life?

“Dad?” Link waved to get his attention. “Dad, it’s alright. We’re both alright.”

Link, the one who was hospitalized, was trying to comfort _him_.

No. No matter what any mysterious voices said, he would not choose between Link and the Triforce. He’d find a way to have _both_ of them. And when Hyrule was brought to heel for its sins, Link would be at his side.


	17. Guest

“Citizens of Hyrule, we are gathered today in both grief, and hope.”

Princess Zelda spoke from a raised dais in the castle courtyard, the Temple of Time behind her. On her sides stood the Queen Regent, her sister General Urbosa, and the regional governors. The Regent’s visage shattered any doubts Ganondorf may have kept about Zelda’s heritage. She stood a good eight feet tall, cinnabar-red curls framing deep brown cheeks. Her posture was tight and regal, with eyes that looked straight through the gathered crowd. In one hand she held the Scepter of Hylia, and on the other, she wore the signet ring of Hyrule’s royal family.

The princess looked more confident than during the evacuation drill. She held her chin high, and her voice didn’t shake. Her shoulders were still too tense. But the citizens gathered silently before her, hanging on her every word.

Ganondorf and Link had front row seats, along with a long line of injured soldiers and other Hyruleans, despite Link’s own protests. The princess had insisted.

Link was sitting with crossed arms. It was a delightfully discreet way to insult them, the equivalent of any other person putting a gag over their mouth, or refusing eye contact.

“Three weeks ago,” the princess said, “we endured a great trial together. Two hundred Hyruleans lost their lives to the Yiga and their demon. But we are a brave and resilient people, and our attackers were no match for us. Thanks to the courage of the Hyrulean army and the prudence of the citizens who evacuated, our city triumphed over its enemies. Today, we will honor the sacrifices of those who fell in the battle, and those who fought the beast.”

Urbosa handed her a long scroll of paper, and the princess read out the names of the dead. For each one, she thanked them and prayed they found a peaceful afterlife. After twenty minutes, she bowed her head, and the citizens bowed with her. Then, she moved on to soldiers wounded during the fight.

She stepped down from the dais, and walked to the front row, where she greeted each injured person by name and thanked them for their service, regardless of whether they were a soldier, noble, or commoner. At first, several tried to stand in respect, but she implored them to stay seated: a remarkable departure from decorum.

Halfway through the line, she came to Link. But she merely gave him a warm smile and a nod of respect. Link kept his arms crossed and did not smile back. Ganondorf was impressed he didn’t glare and get them kicked out of the ceremony.

The princess moved on with no outward sign of offense, and continued greeting the other survivors, some of whom turned their heads curiously at Link and Ganondorf. Link made no indication that he noticed.

He hadn’t indicated much of anything since the guards had escorted them here. His blank face was back in full force.

After going through the front row, she returned to the dais. Her mother passed her the Scepter of Hylia, and Princess Zelda raised her voice again.

“Finally, there is one person who deserves special attention.”

Great. Ganondorf could see where this was going, and judging by Link’s tenseness, so could he. The Regent handed the Scepter of Hylia to her daughter.

“One man,” the princess said, “a civilian no less, went above and beyond his duty to Hyrule. At great risk to his own life, he played a larger role in defeating the demon than anyone else that day. Please give your respects to Link Varuqin.”

The crowd cheered, and Link’s eyes blew wide in alarm. Two Sheikah attendants stepped forward to help him stand, and he leaned back.

“It’s fine,” Ganondorf said, waving the attendants away.

He stood, and offered a hand to help Link up. Link stayed in his seat, eyes on the ground, fingers twitching toward his collarbone where his rings should have been. Having most of the city’s attention on him was too much, and doubly bad since his wounds were still healing. But this wasn’t a problem Link could wait out.

Ganondorf lay a hand on Link’s shoulder, and Link flinched, before glancing up.

“It’s only a minute,” Ganondorf signed.

Finally, Link allowed himself to be pulled up, wincing at the strain on his scars. He wavered on his feet, and had to lean on Ganondorf’s arm for support. They approached the dais together, Sheikah attendants stepping out of the way.

To Ganondorf’s surprise, the princess did not insist that they ascend the stairs. Her brow furrowed at Link’s obvious pain, and she descended the steps herself, eliciting a few gasps from the crowd and a frown from the Regent. The princess carried the scepter in both hands, and approached so that she was directly facing Link. Her eyes darted briefly to Ganondorf, then to his son.

“Thank you,” she said, loud enough for the front audience to hear, “for your courage and heroism for our country. It is my pleasure to appoint you as a knight of Hyrule.”

She raised the scepter for the traditional knighting ceremony, and Link raised a hand to stop her.

The crowd fell dead silent.

“Please lower your hand,” Zelda said, first hint of a tremble in her voice.

Link shook his head, and leaned away. The princess didn’t need to know sign language to understand that. Neither did their audience.

“Do not be afraid,” she said with an awkward smile. “It doesn’t hurt.”

A few chuckles bubbled up from the audience, but Link kept glaring, and the air in the courtyard grew increasingly stiff. The grim gaze of the Queen Regent weighed on their shoulders.

Princess Zelda’s eyes looked to Ganondorf, revealing a brief flash of nerves. He tilted his head in the nearest approximation of a shrug one could do during a ceremony, and kept the amusement off his face. Forget knighthood; his boy couldn’t be bought for all the gold in Eldin.

The princess’ eyes narrowed, and she nodded slightly.

“Of course,” she said, a little louder, “we understand knights are not the only brave citizens who protect our country, nor is knighthood the only way to honor them.” Her voice strengthened. “So if you wish, you and your family may alternately become honored guests of the court.”

Murmurs rose in the crowd. Ganondorf tried hard to keep a straight face. She’d requested Link to _live_ with his least favorite people in Hyrule. It would be laughable, except…

...Except that this would bring Ganondorf closer to the Triforce.

The Regent’s tightly clasped knuckles were the one sign of her opinion about this huge breach of tradition, but she and her daughter would clearly be having words later. This was the opening Ganondorf needed.

Link raised his hands to answer.

“No way in Din’s teeth,” he signed.

Gods blast it, Link.

“He accepts,” Ganondorf said.

Link snapped towards him in shock. So did Princess Zelda. Something unreadable passed through her gaze, and her grip tensed around the scepter. Her eyes dropped to Ganondorf’s hands—bare, Triforce mark perfectly concealed. Ganondorf met her gaze with the smooth, bland smile of an honored subject.

Link was frowning at him. “I said I _didn’t_ want that.”

Ganondorf didn’t bother to translate. The princess’ eyes darted between them, and she swallowed thickly. The murmurs were growing louder and there wasn’t much time left before this became a royal embarrassment.

“Splendid!” she declared, too cheerfully. “I’m delighted to hear of your acceptance, and am sure you will enjoy your stay at court.”

The murmurs quieted, though Ganondorf suspected it was out of bafflement as much as satisfaction. He led them both back to their seats, trying not to see the betrayal in Link’s eyes.

* * *

Ganondorf had to knock several times before Link opened the door to his new room. His face was blank, as it had been ever since they’d moved into Hyrule Castle. He’d waited until the last possible moment to go, then hidden in his quarters instead of meeting people.

Unfortunately, many people in the castle wanted to meet _him._

Ganondorf signed, “The general is waiting to see you.”

Link grimaced. “She’ll be waiting a long time.”

“She is not a person you should risk offending.”

“Why, will she shoot me like they shot Arrow and Sunshroom?”

Ganondorf pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed.

“I didn’t need that mental image today.”

Link ducked his head. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to make a full conversation with her,” he signed. “A wave and nod will do.”

“Tell her my wounds are acting up. I’ll hack phlegm all over her fancy Hyrulean armor.”

Ganondorf knew for a fact that Link’s lungs were the first organ Mipha had healed. He couldn’t blame his son for his reluctance, but this was a custom Link would have to get used to.

“At least do it for your own sake. You may need to rely on her later.”

Link made a wet, exaggerated, coughing sound into his elbow.

“Oh no,” he signed, “she’s aggravating the injury I got saving her castle.”

“For Din’s sake.”

From the parlor, General Urbosa called, “Is everything alright, Gandor?”

Link made a sickly-sounding wheeze. Ganondorf shot him a pointed look, but let him go. He returned to the parlor and sat down opposite the general.

Superficially, his and Link’s new lodgings were luxurious: hardwood desks, cabinets, and velvet couches that came with the apartment, Sheikah charms that kept the rooms warm as autumn drifted in, lamps of luminous stone that could provide day-like lighting even at midnight. But between the richly-dyed tapestries and tall, magically-brightened windows, there’d been no space to hang Link’s picture of Varuq; they’d had to leave her at the townhouse, along with the hidden daruk and Ganondorf’s plans.

Not to mention that an agent of the Crown could walk in at any time and demand an audience. Like a certain general who’d dropped in after dinner today.

“I’m afraid my son isn’t feeling well,” he told Urbosa. “He pushed himself too hard this morning.”

She raised her goblet of wine in acknowledgment.

“Even heroes have their limits,” she said, and Ganondorf managed not to twitch at the word. “I wish him a quick recovery.”

Urbosa did, in fact, wear her armor inside, though she’d removed the platemail, leaving a gambeson of Hylian linen and marked with traditional Gerudo symbols. She reclined on the couch like a leopard, apparently at perfect ease, but her bronze ears twitched at every sound from the reconstruction work outside.

“General,” Ganondorf said, “may I speak as one Gerudo to another?”

She raised a red eyebrow, but nodded. “What’s on your mind?”

“How difficult is it to be a Gerudo in the seat of the Hylian government?”

She frowned, and raised a finger to her chin, thinking. The seconds ticked by on the mechanical wall-clock. For almost a minute, she said nothing, until her eyes flickered upward.

“The ceiling is low in old buildings like this one.”

Ganondorf blinked. It wasn’t untrue; Hyrule Castle _did_ predate Gerudo joining the Hylian government. But seriously, the ceiling?

“No,” he said. “I mean, you have to work with the Hylians.”

Urbosa tilted her head. “Do you not like Hylians?”

She said it casually enough, but her eyes glinted with the same keenness as in her sister’s gaze.

“I have no issues with them,” he said. “I merely wanted to know more about the treatment of our people in this regime.”

For a second, her composure broke, and she looked genuinely baffled.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” She shook her head and sat up straighter on the couch. “I’ve never heard of Gerudo being _mis_ -treated. The refugees from Labrynna and Holodrum, yes, but not _us_.”

“Right,” he said, recalculating. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Urbosa’s brow furrowed, and she set her goblet aside.

“It’s against the law to discriminate on the basis of species or provincial origin. If you know of a violation, report it to me or to a court of law.”

He held up a hand. “Naturally.”

Urbosa watched him for a few moments more, before rising to her feet.

“It was a pleasure to meet with you, but I must return to the Yiga investigation. There’s an officer position open for your son whenever he’s ready.”

Ganondorf managed not to scowl. “I’ll tell him. Good day, General.”

She departed, and he closed the door behind her with a click. It had been foolish of him to hope for honesty from her. Urbosa benefited too much from her status within the Hylian government.

She was the latest in a long list of nobles and military leaders who’d come to see Link, and the latest whom he’d refused to come out of his room for. If not for Link’s fame, and Ganondorf giving them his best Necludan wine, Ganondorf was sure they would have been kicked out of the castle within two days, if not arrested for disrespect.

Link poked his head out of his room, and sent Ganondorf a questioning look.

“Yes, she’s gone.”

Link heaved a sigh of relief, and curled up in Urbosa’s former seat. Fork clung to his shoulder, back in mouse-form. His eyes fell on the empty goblet she’d left on the side-table, and he frowned.

“I know you don’t like it,” Ganondorf said, “but life in a castle requires you to interact with its residents sometimes.”

“It’s not like I asked for this.” Link huffed. “And I don’t understand why you did.”

“We couldn’t have refused _any_ honor from the princess. The Hyruleans would have taken it as an insult, and it would have drawn more attention.”

“Some honor,” Link signed, ears twitching at the shout of a foreman below their window.

He and Ganondorf had been fortunate: their quarters were in a part of the keep undamaged by the attack, so Link didn’t have to endure construction workers coming in and out. However, several towers and terraces had been wrecked, along with the southeastern outer walls. The courtyard and buildings bustled with work crews, so from sunrise to sundown one could hear the hammer of nails on wood, and the scrape of stone on stone.

Link winced as a steel beam clattered against the cobblestones outside.

“We’ll never get a moment’s peace.”

“Perhaps. But we can use this to our advantage,” Ganondorf signed. “The royal family guards information about the Triforce closely. If you pretend to befriend them, we may gain access to such knowledge.”

Link went still, face expressionless.

“Is that the reason why you wanted to live in the castle?”

His son was too sharp for his own good sometimes.

“I’m sorry to have brought you into this,” Ganondorf signed. “If it were possible to pursue the matter without putting more upon your shoulders...”

He trailed off at the realization that he meant those words. Why did the Triforce have to be split among three people who hated each other? Why did part of it have to be embodied in _Link?_ If there were a way to take it out of Link’s hand, and send him away to live a perfectly mundane life…

“It’s fine,” Link signed. “I know this is important to you.”

His face was uncomfortably blank.

“Link,” Ganondorf said aloud, “if you don’t want to—”

“I said it’s fine.” He rose, and set Fork on the table. “Excuse me. I think I’ll go to bed early.”

With that, he spun around and stalked to his room. A second later, a lock clicked that hadn’t been there yesterday.

No locksmiths had come through their quarters. Link must have installed it himself. He loved to _pick_ locks, but this was the first time he’d ever created one to keep someone _out._ And he hadn’t put it on the main entrance, where it could block the princess and other visitors. He’d put it on his own door, after selecting the room as far away from Ganondorf’s as possible in their suite.

“He’s not happy, boss,” Fork signed.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” He switched to sign. “He never did like sudden changes.”

“I don’t think it’s that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Explain.”

“You’re basically using him to get closer to the Triforce.”

Ganondorf shook his head. “He never minded before.”

“He _volunteered_ before.”

She gave him a look that would have been more condescending if it hadn’t been currently coming from a mouse. Ganondorf glowered back.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” he signed, “I’m doing this to _protect_ him. Would you rather I let him break his fool head open during another attack?”

He’d found an opening: a way to pursue the Triforce through stealth and subtlety, instead of violence. A way to achieve his goal _without_ putting Link’s life at risk. It didn’t even put _Hyrulean_ lives at risk, which Link would applaud if he knew how many people had died in Ganondorf’s previous attempts.

Or at least, he’d applaud if he didn’t run Ganondorf through with the Master Sword.

“I know that,” Fork signed. “But _he_ doesn’t. He only knows that his father ignored his wishes and put false words into his mouth. Er, hands.”

Ganondorf scowled. “Enough.”

“He’s probably wondering if he can trust you to translate for him again.”

“ _Enough,_ Fork.”

Ganondorf stalked out, disregarding her irritated squeaks. He disregarded, too, the growing tightness in his chest, and left to walk around the castle.

He passed through halls covered with dust and rubble, and past maids and footmen struggling to work while wearing casts. He walked out the side-entrance, onto the grounds, where medical tents dotted the landscape, and the cobblestones were stained by blood and ash.

No matter how Link saw things, deception was the right choice. It had to be.

Mipha came by the next day, more cheerful than when Ganondorf had first met her. Her scales were brighter, her head-tail bouncy like Sidon’s, and she greeted Ganondorf with a small wave. She also brought a friend: Princess Zelda.

“I’m here for Link’s check-up,” Mipha said. “Is it alright if Zelda joins us? She wished to speak with him as well.”

“By all means.” If the princess came to them, instead of Ganondorf having to find an excuse to contact her, so much the better.

Three hundred years ago, the princess of Zorana and her Hylian counterpart would have been sworn enemies. Yet they called each other by first name, and Princess Zelda carried Mipha’s medical bag for her. They made an odd sight together, Zelda nearly eye-level with Ganondorf, and Mipha barely coming up to her shoulder.

Link was at least willing to come out of his room for Mipha, but when he spotted Zelda beside her, he stopped at the entrance to the parlor and narrowed his eyes.

“Nice to see you,” Zelda signed, movements shaky and unpracticed.

Link gave her a nod.

“Link,” Mipha signed, “would you rather I examine you in your room, or out here?”

“Don’t care.”

“Do you mind if Princess Zelda sits with us? She wanted to thank you in person.”

Ganondorf sent Link a meaningful look to remind him to be polite. Link sighed, but tilted his head in acknowledgment.

“Whatever gets this over with as fast as possible.”

Mipha smiled, and said aloud, “He says yes, Your Mercy.”

She and Link sat on the couch they usually did when she reviewed his injuries. His wounds had healed slowly, but steadily. The bones had mended, and the rest of his organs were nearly normal. But the scars still trailed from his cheek down his abdomen, and probably always would. Mipha began demonstrating exercises she wanted him to do for physical therapy.

Meanwhile, Zelda sat primly in a leather wingback chair, far enough to give Mipha and Link a modicum of privacy. Ganondorf took a seat across from her, and she rubbed the back of her hand. Her Triforce mark of Wisdom was clear and golden, unlike the ones Ganondorf had disguised.

“How is the Queen Regent?” he asked.

“Fine.” Her eyes darted away. An obvious weak point.

“She must be terribly proud of you,” he said, and Zelda twitched.

“Quite.” Her gaze fell on Link and Mipha, and she lowered her voice. “He’s a betweener, too, isn’t he?”

Ganondorf raised an eyebrow, but let the topic change. “Excuse me?”

“You know how most mixed kids either look all Gerudo or all Hylian?” Her face softened. “It’s always nice to meet another person in the middle.”

Ganondorf stiffened, and fought to keep the glare off his face. He took a moment to collect himself, and chose his next words carefully.

“My wife was a _Gerudo_ , thank you.”

Across the room, Link looked up at that, and frowned.

“So he’s just...” Short, Zelda didn’t say. “Forgive the mistake. I saw him, and thought we were alike.”

Ganondorf snorted. She was more right than she knew.

Zelda was rubbing her hand again, and stopped when she noticed Ganondorf watching her.

“Does your arm still pain you?” he asked.

She gave him a stiff smile. “Not at all.”

They fell into a tense silence. He didn’t miss her surreptitious glance at his hand, or at Link and Mipha, which she tried to cover up by letting her gaze wander around the room. Her face twisted at the line of jars on the counter: Link had managed to bring part of his disturbing collection with him, which provided a great conversation piece for making visitors hastily excuse themselves.

Zelda startled and pointed at a vial. “Is that an Eldin stag beetle?”

Link frowned from his place on the couch, but nodded.

“I’ve never seen one up close!” She jumped up and brought her nose almost to the glass. “These are almost extinct! Supposedly the saltpeter mines in Eldin have been cutting into the stag beetle’s habitat, and there’s increased predation from a species of lizard that was introduced from...”

She trailed off, flushing, and her eyes darted towards Link.

“The Gerudo highlands,” he said, fingerspelling the words.

Zelda blinked, and slowly mouthed the letters to herself.

“Gerudo...highlands?”

Link nodded.

“Yes!” She brightened. “Mipha, I got it!”

“So you did,” Mipha said aloud, smiling softly. “Now, one last exercise...”

Link kept a wary eye on Zelda as he practiced a wrist stretch. Zelda moved on to examining other insects and plants on display.

“Warm darner,” she said, more to herself than to anyone else. “Dragonfly species widespread through Hyrule, mildly poisonous but secretes a substance that protects against hypothermia when cooked...Electric safflina, native to the Gerudo desert, used to make light yellow dye that protects against sunburn...”

“All done,” Mipha said, patting Link lightly on the shoulder. “You’ll make a quick recovery, as long as you don’t climb onto any other skeleton beasts.”

He chuckled. “I make no promises.”

Mipha might have been an adolescent, but she already had the Disappointed Mom face down.

“ _Please_ don’t do any climbing or running for the next three weeks.”

“No running for one week,” he signed.

“You can’t haggle over how quickly you recover.”

He smiled. “I can try.”

“Three weeks,” Ganondorf said aloud, and they both turned to him. “No climbing or running. You’ve given me enough heart attacks for a lifetime.”

Link shot Ganondorf the briefest look of annoyance, but nodded.

Mipha rose, and bowed. “I have other patients to see. Zelda, are you coming?”

Zelda peered up from where she’d been engrossed in specimens, and smiled.

“Link has such an interesting collection. I’d love to hear about how he came by them.”

Link gave her a deadpan look and tapped pointedly at his mouth.

“Oh!” She clapped a hand over her lips. “I mean, um, deepest apologies, I didn’t mean to...”

“He knows perfectly well what you meant,” Ganondorf said. “Fortunately, he always carries a pen and notebook to make conversations easier.”

Zelda brightened. “Perfect!” She held up a vial of dried silent princess flowers. “Could you tell me where you found these?”

Link looked almost disappointed by Mipha’s departure. But he braced himself, and joined Zelda. She pelted him with questions, which he answered with gestures or hums, or the occasional shrug when he didn’t want to answer. Soon, she moved on to his other effects on the counter.

“This is fascinating,” she said, hovering over the half-finished pipe organ. “It reminds me of the harpsichord...”

“Pipe organ,” he signed. At Zelda’s confused blink, he took out his notebook and switched to writing, tilting the paper so Ganondorf could see as well.

“Oh, right,” she said. “Do you play?”

“I did,” he wrote. “Couldn’t bring it with us to the city.”

“And this is...a miniature one?”

Link nodded.

“Goodness!” She reached toward the instrument, and he brought up a hand to block her.

She winced. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? May I touch it?”

He shook his head, maintaining flat, steady eye contact the whole time. Her eyes widened, not used to being so bluntly rejected.

“Well.” She cleared her throat. “It’s lovely. Would you happen to recall where you bought it?”

His eyes turned a few shades colder. “I’m making it.”

Her face lit up. “That’s astounding! We’ve got lots of spare materials lying around...Oh!”

Link raised an eyebrow.

“Have you been to the Library of Hyrule yet?” she asked. “I think you’d enjoy it. And it’s connected to the Sheikah Center. I’m sure they’d love to collaborate with you on their projects.”

His shoulders stiffened. He fingerspelled a single word.

“Weapons.”

“Weapons, yes,” Zelda said. “But other things, too. There’s a huge project about developing molduga-proof aqueducts, and another about the Faron Canal.”

The Faron Canal? Faron...that was south of Lake Hylia, where Admiral Seggin was building the pan-Hyrulean navy. If a canal connected Lake Hylia to the ocean, Hyrule might finally compete with Labrynna’s dominance of the sea.

“You’re surely getting offers for military ranks,” Zelda said, and smiled at the wince on Link’s face. “But consider the Sheikah, too. I would be happy to introduce you.”

Link held up a hand, and made a cutting motion: “Nope.”

“Are you certain? You could do a lot of good.”

He sent Ganondorf a look. This, at least, was something they agreed on.

Ganondorf said, “He’s given you his answer, Princess.”

The light in her eyes dimmed. “I see. Well, I can’t fault you if you take a military position. That’s an honorable path, too.”

Link pursed his lips and looked away. His fingers tapped a pipe-organ beat at his side.

“No need to be so modest,” she said. “They’re calling you a hero of Hyrule, you know.”

He snapped back to her, eyes wide and incredulous. Zelda laughed.

“Indeed! The army’s been swamped with applications since your story spread. They’re making posters based on the battle to inspire recruits.”

She didn’t seem to notice his body growing increasingly tense, nor his facial expression going blank.

“I’m glad,” she said. “We could use more patriots like you.”

Link signed, “Patriots who open fire on innocent people?”

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed off to his room. Zelda was left blinking and confused. Thank the Seven she didn’t understand.

“Mr. Gandor...?” she asked in a small voice.

“Forgive his curtness,” he said. “Link has had many changes in his life recently, and it is difficult for him to consider another one so soon. He is not personally upset with you.”

Or at least, he wasn’t _only_ upset with her.

“I see,” Zelda said, and tapped her chin. “Should I try to apologize?”

“I believe he’s reached his limit today.”

She nodded, and curtsied. “I’ll come by another time.”

“I’m sure you will,” Ganondorf said, keeping the irritation out of his voice. He showed her out the door.

That could have gone worse, but it also could have gone much better. If the princess kept learning sign language, Link would need to watch his words. He was usually easygoing, but ever since the Belgorath…

Just a little longer. They were close, so close, and Ganondorf only needed time to figure out how to unite the Triforce and grant his wish. Just a little more time, and they could put this mess behind them.

He hoped Link would be willing to wait.


	18. Contested

Princess Zelda returned the next morning alone, and asked to speak to Link again. She signed as much as she could, though stumbled over the grammar and motions. Link sent Ganondorf a pointed glance. Ganondorf returned it, even more pointedly, and Link crossed his arms but stayed put.

“I am sorry,” Zelda signed. “I said a bad thing. I made you angry.”

He shrugged, face blank.

“You had...” Her brows knitted together, and she mimed putting on a necklace. “Gone after battle.”

Link tensed, and looked at her more sharply. “How did you know?”

She coughed, cheeks reddening. “Sidon told me.”

She retrieved a small box from her trousers, and handed it to him. Inside was a chain necklace with a pair of iron rings. Link stared at them, jaw agape, while Zelda watched him and rubbed the back of her hand.

“Is it good?” she signed.

He blinked, and set the box on the table, face closing off again.

“Thanks.”

Zelda gave him a tight smile. “There is a pipe organ nearby. I can show you?”

Link studied her for a long moment, and looked again at Ganondorf.

“Go ahead,” Ganondorf said aloud. “Surely you’re getting tired of these rooms by now.”

This was a fine opportunity to get more information from the princess. Judging by the way Link bit his lip, he was thinking the same. At last, he nodded, and Zelda practically dragged him out the door.

Link returned later that day than expected, and when he did, Zelda came with him. They stood at the doorway for nearly ten minutes, conversing in a mishmash of signs, writing and Zelda’s occasional spoken word. Many signs were substituted for finger-spelled acronyms, presumably to compensate for her lack of fluency and his impatience with writing. The resulting dialogue looked incomprehensible from the outside. But judging by the faint spark in Link’s eyes, and Zelda’s delighted outbursts of science jargon, it made perfect sense to them.

Ganondorf couldn’t help but stare. It was good that Link was getting into the new plan, but that didn’t quell the odd feeling in Ganondorf’s chest. But that had to be a memory of previous lives, when the Hero and princess worked together, nothing more.

After what felt like ages, she left. Link closed the door, and upon spotting Ganondorf, the spark faded. The odd feeling grew tighter.

“Learn anything interesting?”

Link hummed, took a seat on the couch, and rested his chin on his hands: a cue that he needed to gather his thoughts. Ganondorf sat opposite him, and waited.

At length, Link glanced toward the door outside, a faint frown casting over his face.

“There’s a lot of soldiers out there.”

Indeed. Ganondorf had passed their patrols often while introducing himself to nobles and staff around the castle.

“The Yiga investigation,” he signed. “Have they been troubling you?”

Link grunted. “They’re...acting nice, I think? It’s hard to tell.”

“You’re right to be careful.” Ganondorf leaned back in his chair. “You’ve seen their true colors.”

“Zelda said they weren’t supposed to be in the desert.”

Ganondorf’s eyes widened. His son and the princess were on a first-name basis already?

“She said she had a vision of the capital being attacked,” Link signed, hands speeding up. “Her mother interpreted it as an attack from Calatia, and sent the legions to border areas like the desert. Zelda said she never wanted that to happen, but her _mother_ overruled her.”

He pursed his lips as he signed, and sent Ganondorf an unreadable look. Ganondorf would have to decipher that later.

“How did this subject arise?”

Link swallowed. “She asked me why I didn’t want to join the army.”

Ganondorf tensed. “You told her?”

“Nothing specific.”

“You know she is a royal,” he said. “She’s spent a lifetime using people and hoarding secrets.”

“I know, I know.” Link huffed, and rubbed his neck. “If you want to try out the pipe organ, it’s in the Temple of Time.”

Ganondorf tried not to glower at the name of that blasted temple, but allowed the subject change.

“The one with the Master Sword?”

“Mhmm. She kept trying to get me to pull it.”

Ganondorf sucked in a breath, aghast. The princess _knew._ How in Din’s name...the blasted Triforce marks. She’d been rubbing her hand when she visited. She’d sensed them, and must have put two and two together. And if she’d guessed who Link was, she could probably identify _Ganondorf_.

It was suddenly much more dangerous to leave Link alone with her.

“Calm down, I know better than that,” Link signed, rolling his eyes. “Tampering with government property is the sort of prank nobles think is funny. _She_ wouldn’t get in trouble for it.”

“Right.” Ganondorf kept his hands as steady as possible. “A childish prank.”

Thank Din for letting Link misunderstand.

“Then we ran into Mipha and Sidon,” Link signed. “Zelda wanted us all to have lunch together tomorrow.”

Ganondorf raised an eyebrow. “Can Sidon even fit in this building?”

“You know the pond at the southeast of the courtyard?” Link signed. “It’s a Zora entrance. She wants to have a picnic there.”

“Hopefully she didn’t take your answer too badly.”

Link frowned and tilted his head.

“Why would she? I accepted.”

Ganondorf’s brows rose higher. “You what?”

“That _is_ what we’re here for, right?” Link signed slowly and clearly. “Get close to the royals and pretend to make friends.”

“Of course,” he muttered. “Good thinking.”

It made perfect sense. But the concept of Link _voluntarily_ spending time with Zelda—much less Sidon—was hard to believe. Especially since he signed so little to even Ganondorf these days. When they did spend time together, the conversation petered out quickly. A lunch party could be a decent solution, and provide the opportunity to gather more information.

“Something wrong?” Link signed.

“Not at all,” he muttered. “My schedule is clear tomorrow.”

“You weren’t invited.”

Ganondorf froze. The princess was moving _fast._

“It would hardly be appropriate,” he said, “to have a party without a chaperone. Especially not with that fishman after you.”

“The word is _Zora_ ,” Link signed. “And nothing will happen. There’s guards everywhere.”

Why was Link jumping to Sidon’s defense? He didn’t even like Sidon.

“Besides,” Ganondorf said. “I ought to pay the Zora heirs my respects officially.”

Link groaned. _“Dad.”_

“Don’t worry. I won’t embarrass you too much.”

Link groaned, and rubbed his forehead.

“That’s not what I’m afraid of.”

He wouldn’t explain further, but stopped arguing, which was the closest to a yes that Ganondorf could expect.

If it had been risky to draw Sidon’s attention, drawing _Zelda’s_ was dangerous. Now that she suspected them, the plan to get the Triforce could blow up in Ganondorf’s face if he didn’t get this under control. Even if it annoyed Link, Ganondorf couldn’t afford to let the gap widen between them—a gap the princess would exploit in a minute if he left her and Link alone.

* * *

The path through the castle was thick with soldiers surveying the halls, and more were stationed outside, overseeing the castle reconstruction and the movements of everyone in and out. By the pond, he and Link found Zelda, Mipha and Sidon waiting. However, the pond and Zora entrance were next to the walls the Belgorath had ripped apart Teams of masons and carpenters hurried about, leaving a great deal of dust and noise, and little privacy. Link shuddered.

Zelda’s eyes lit up upon seeing Link, but she gave Ganondorf a cool nod.

“A pleasure to see you...both,” she said. “We can move to the northwest pavilion, if you don’t mind? It will be quieter there.”

Link immediately gave a thumbs-up, and so they did. The northwest grounds and their centerpiece, the Temple of Time, were almost untouched from the battle. Beside the temple, a series of tents had been erected to serve as a field hospital. Its patients had long been discharged or cremated, but the furnishings remained, and Zelda sat everyone down at a line of tables under a woven canopy. She and Sidon unpacked a picnic lunch while Mipha fussed over Link.

“How are you feeling?” Mipha signed. “Any pain?”

“My hand’s been hurting sometimes.” He rubbed his wrist, Triforce mark still invisible. “But only on the back.”

Zelda’s brows furrowed, and she glanced toward Ganondorf, who showed no reaction.

Mipha peered at Link’s hand. “I can’t sense any damage, so it seems to be phantom pain. Tell me if it gets worse. Any breathing issues?”

“Breathing’s fine,” he signed. He patted his chest through his shirt. “It aches when I scale the castle, but I can almost—”

“Link, _please.”_ Her hands sped up. “Are you trying to reopen your stitches?”

“People keep talking to me!” He threw up his hands. “How else am I supposed to get away from all these weird rich people?”

Mipha cocked her head and held out an arm gesturing to Zelda and Sidon, as if to say, _These weird rich people? The ones giving you room and board?_

Link made an exaggerated shrug: _You said it, not me._

Sidon frowned, eyes darting between them. “Maybe I should learn more sign...”

“Link’s being difficult,” Mipha said aloud.

“He’s good at that,” Ganondorf agreed.

Link gave them an unimpressed look and an audible “Hmph.”

After Mipha scolded Link for his life choices, Zelda leaned toward him and lowered her voice.

“Do you mind if we speak in private for a minute?”

He frowned, then pointed to himself, and then the ground: a refusal. Zelda glanced toward Ganondorf and the two Zora, lips pursed.

“Fair enough,” she said, and tucked a black ringlet behind her ear. “It’s about our...disagreement earlier.”

Ganondorf went still—as did Mipha and Sidon. Link gave Zelda a wary look.

She took a deep breath, and said, “I think you were right.”

Oh? That was strange indeed. Judging by Link’s expression, he was surprised as well.

“Regardless of what I saw in my vision,” she said, “that’s not an excuse for what happened. It’s a reason for caution, not for justice to be suspended.”

Interesting. She was probably making herself look vulnerable in an attempt to gain Link’s trust.

Link regarded her carefully for a moment, then nodded, though his posture didn’t relax.

“It’s not my place to pry,” she said, “but I hope, one day, you’ll tell me more about your friends.”

Ganondorf clasped his hands together so they wouldn’t clench into fists. How much _had_ Link told her? And how much could she guess from watching him?

Link’s eyes darted toward Ganondorf. Zelda followed his gaze and Ganondorf took care that his posture revealed nothing.

“You put a lot of credence in visions,” he said.

She straightened up, and Mipha and Sidon shared a glance. Link's shoulders loosened as the attention at the table shifted.

Zelda smiled bitterly. “I’ve had them since I was a child.”

“So I heard,” Ganondorf said. “What did you see?”

Mipha shuddered. Sidon leaned forward, saying, “Say, why don’t we change the—”

Zelda held up a hand, and he trailed off.

“It’s alright.” She glanced toward Link. “Our guests ought to know the truth.”

He blinked, head-tail flicking pensively, but made no comment. Ganondorf leaned back, satisfaction rising in his chest.

“I had a vision,” she said, “of the end of the world. The sky turned black in the middle of the day. The city crumpled, as if the earth itself was buckling beneath it, and the streets were filled with blood and rubble.” Her gaze fell to the ground. “The air was thick with the stench of rotting bodies, and stars were falling from the sky.”

Mipha lay a hand on Zelda’s arm. The princess closed her eyes, opened them, and took a deep breath before continuing.

“I told everyone I could, and people listened. At first. But my mother interpreted it as an attack from Calatia, so she sent troops to the borders, instead of the city.” She swallowed. “When no attack happened, people said I’d had a bad dream. When I kept trying to warn them, they called me the ‘princess who cried wolf.’ Later, they called me mad.”

Mipha scooted closer, and wrapped her arm around Zelda’s shoulders. “No one calls you that now, my dear.”

Zelda smiled humorlessly. “Give it time, I’m sure they’ll remember.”

“No,” Sidon interjected, “I think the behemoth changed their minds. Everyone knows it was _your_ evacuation drills that enabled most of the civilians to escape unhurt. Thousands of people are alive thanks to you, and they know it.”

Before anyone could reply, he passed out plates of sushi—a Zora dish Hylians wouldn’t have been caught dead eating three centuries ago, but Zelda didn’t blink. The conversation trailed off for lunch, and resumed afterward on lighter subjects. The discussion split between those who spoke aloud, and Link and Mipha, who signed to each other.

“How come Sidon’s bigger than you?” he asked.

“He’s next in line for the throne of Zorana. The highest-ranked Zora grow bigger than the rest of us.”

She exaggerated the sign for “bigger” for emphasis. Sidon looked quizzical as he watched their hand motions.

Link tapped his chin. “Aren’t you older?”

“Highest-ranking doesn’t mean oldest. It means the most _influential._ Sidon thrives off attention, and I, well, don’t.” She ducked her head. “I’d be petrified to rule. So he grew bigger than me.”

“And when your dad dies...”

“Sidon will probably get taller again.” She grinned, a twinkle in her eye. “I trust you won’t hold that against him.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Mipha, are you talking about me again?”

“No!” Mipha said aloud, while Link pointed to her and nodded.

Sidon groaned. “Mipha!”

He scooted over to join them, and presumably to keep his sister from embarrassing him in front of his crush any further. This left Zelda and Ganondorf to talk among themselves, in the same way one might leave two cats in a room with only one mouse.

“Your son is truly brave,” Zelda said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he could slay Ganon himself.”

Ganondorf smiled flatly. So she wanted to play this game, did she?

“I am proud of him,” he agreed. “It’s heartening to see someone recognized for their accomplishments, not just for who their parents were.”

The princess’ smile stayed in place, but its corners grew stiff.

“Indeed,” she said. “Actions are essential to knowing a man’s character.” She fixed him with a steady look. “But we must examine a man’s motivations to know who he really is.”

Ganondorf raised an eyebrow. “Must we? Motivations are such fickle things. It is better to judge a man by the outcomes of his actions.”

“People don’t change _that_ much,” Zelda shot back. “Some people are simply good or evil by nature.” Her eyes flitted towards Link. “You cannot make a fundamentally good person evil, or cure someone who is determined to be wicked. Their true selves show through eventually.”

Ganondorf’s hand curled into a fist, but he kept his voice perfectly level.

“If you’re looking for reasons to doubt someone,” he said, “you will never fail to find them.” His smile turned tight and bitter. “I’d rather be loyal to those who have shown loyalty to me.”

“And would you cross those whom you think have crossed you?” Zelda asked.

“Would you let a threat against _your_ country go unanswered?”

“Oy!”

Link’s voice on the other side of the table interrupted them.

“Neither of you is as subtle as you think you are,” he signed. “Knock it off.”

Ganondorf froze, mentally recalculating now that Link was paying attention.

Beside him, Zelda cleared her throat. “Ah, Mipha, what did he say?”

Mipha’s eyes went wide, and her head-fin wriggled nervously.

“It was, ah...”

“Change the subject,” Link signed.

“We were talking about Resurgence Day!” she sputtered. “Link’s never been! Sidon, why don’t you tell him about it?”

Sidon lit up. “Oh, it’s amazing! Link, you _must_ go!”

Link drew back at Sidon’s enthusiasm. “Hmm?”

“It’s the biggest festival in the autumn,” Sidon said. “There’s game booths and dances outside, and food carts with dishes from all over the country. Everyone wears masks, so you don’t have to worry about people recognizing you and bothering you for attention.” His smile tightened. “At least, _you_ wouldn’t have that.”

Mipha patted her brother on his back. “Poor Sidon. He gets defeated by a bunch of tiny heroes every year.”

“Tiny heroes?” Ganondorf asked, faintly incredulous.

Zelda said, as if reciting from a lesson, “Resurgence Day commemorates the day Hyrule was liberated from Ganon by the Hero of the Master Sword, and by Queen Zelda the Great.”

“Your ancestor!” Sidon said, beaming.

“Quite.” She blushed, and cleared her throat. “As such, it’s traditional for children to dress up as the Hero or the Queen. Adults wear masks in memory of the years the Queen spent in hiding from Ganon, disguising herself and living as a commoner.”

As she spoke, her eyes never stopped watching Ganondorf. He put on an expression of polite interest, revealing nothing.

“As guests of the crown,” she said, “please allow me to give you both a couple of masks. I couldn’t bear for you to miss the joy of that evening.”

“How delightful,” he said.

His Triforce mark burned against his skin.

* * *

Over the next week, he saw less and less of Link. When Link was present, he signed little, and spent almost all his time alone in his room. Ganondorf would have been glad Link was recovering so well, except Princess Zelda was showing far too much interest in his condition. Din knew how far she’d go to win Link over.

It wasn’t often that the fish-prince looked like a better option. But the Hero had never tried to murder Ganondorf for the sake of rescuing a Zora. So one day, while Link had disappeared somewhere, Ganondorf pulled out a book: _The Bird-people and the Bees: Mixed Relationships for the Modern Era._

In his youth, those relationships would have been called something much less polite. Back then, Gerudo boys weren’t allowed to date, much less pick their spouses. Sons were so rare, their mothers couldn’t afford to waste them on poor matches. Ganondorf had been engaged to the chiefs of three tribes before he’d turned sixteen.

But these days, no one looked twice at Gerudo-Hylian marriages, even for boys. On the bright side, he didn’t have to treat _Link’s_ marriage prospects like a battlefield. On the downside, everyone assumed Link would “date,” as modern Gerudo did.

And Ganondorf did mean _everyone._ At least two people from every race but the Gorons had attempted to flirt with his son since moving to the castle. Link, who would instantly spot if one of his jars was moved a quarter-turn to the left, somehow hadn’t noticed this. Yet.

_You try my patience, mortal._

Ganondorf froze. He looked around the parlor, a chill creeping up his spine.

_How is this supposed to achieve your plan?_

He hadn’t been imagining things after all. He rose, setting the book aside, listening for the voice’s source.

“Show yourself, demon.”

Tendrils of blackness slithered from the corners of the room, congealing into a thick shadow before him. It stretched and distorted itself into the shape of a Hylian man, flat and dark, like peering through a hole in the air itself.

“Wrath of Din,” Ganondorf whispered, “what are you?”

The figure cocked its head. A mouth appeared where its face should have been, grinning unnaturally wide.

_Come now, is that any way to talk to a friend?_

“How long have you been following me? What do you want?”

_I’m trying to help you._

“You’re the one who sent me that vision,” he said. “You tried to murder my son.”

_You’re losing focus, Ganondorf. What happened to the firebrand who swore vengeance upon his family’s murderers?_

“I never asked for your help,” he spat.

The figure threw back its head and laughed, shrill and toneless, like dogs crying out in pain.

His magic was depleted from the Belgorath, but if he focused, he could summon heat to his hand. He clenched every muscle from his shoulder down to his fist, pushed aside the burning pain in his chest, and gathered embers into his palm.

“You’re going to leave me and my son alone.”

The figure snapped its fingers, and the fire vanished.

“What did—”

It slammed a surprisingly solid hand against the table, and an invisible force hurled Ganondorf to the ground. The impact blew the air from his lungs and the edges of his vision went dark.

_Useless mortal._

He pushed his elbow against the floor, but a weight like Death Mountain pinned him down, and a vise-like force wrapped around his throat. He couldn’t speak, could barely even breathe. His hands scrabbled vainly at his throat.

_If you don’t act quickly, this will be your fate._

The figure morphed, black turning into green and brown and brunette. Its feet became boots, its hands grew gauntlets, and a face appeared in the void of its head, brown-skinned, blue-eyed: Link’s real face, looking at Ganondorf in disgust.

_Do you think the boy would care for you after he discovers what you did? He loves a father who never truly existed. And if you don’t move against Hyrule, Hyrule will move him against you._

No. Not _the_ boy, _his_ boy. Not the Hero, but _Link_.

The figure swirled a shadow into the shape of the Master Sword, and pointed it at Ganondorf. The vise tightened around his neck.

 _The boy,_ the figure hissed, _who gave you this._

It thrust forward, and the hole in Ganondorf’s chest ripped open again, blood drenching his shirt and dripping onto the floor. His heart stopped, he couldn’t breathe, pulse pounding against his skull like a cannonball against stone—

And then the figure vanished. The darkness receded, leaving him gasping on the floor, stones spattered with streaks of red. A squeak sounded behind him, and Fork scurried to his side.

“Boss! Are you okay?”

He gave her a look that would’ve killed a real mouse on the spot.

“Where were you a minute ago?” he signed.

“I’m not sure what you expected me to do against _that_. The first-aid kit is bigger than I am. Can you breathe?”

She was too small to help him stand or bandage his wound, but eventually he managed to heave himself up and get to the washroom, bracing against the wall. He left a trail of blood-drops behind him, and nearly fell against the counter. He cleaned and wrapped the wound, changed his clothes, and collapsed against the couch when he was done. Fork scrubbed the bloodstains from the floor.

The rush of fear was fading now, and it left him with a hollow numbness. So, there was a spirit following him, and it could nullify his magic in a second. It could attack him, or Link, without lifting a finger. And it could materialize at any time. If he wasn’t exhausted, or if his chest wasn’t spearing him with agony, he’d be horrified.

The door clicked open, and he jerked upward through another burst of pain, only to relax when he saw Link. Link didn’t look at him, but walked toward his room, not stopping until Ganondorf called his name.

“Where were you? I haven’t seen you all day.”

Link gave him an annoyed look. “Nowhere.”

“Were you with the princess? I know she’s been trying to gain your trust. Or with Sidon, perhaps?”

As Ganondorf spoke, Link’s face closed off, into that unreadable blankness that was all too familiar these days. His eye contact remained steady, but his foot shifted almost imperceptibly back, like a swordsman bracing for a fight.

After several long moments of nothing, Link’s hands finally moved.

“I wish you would trust me more, Dad.”

He spun on his heel, walked down the hall to his room, and locked the door behind him. Ganondorf and Fork were left to stare. He let out a breath and forced his shoulders to relax.

“Boss?” Fork signed. “You don’t think Link would...”

“Never.”

He spoke it, loudly, as if to scare away any alternatives. But it didn’t erase the expression he had seen on Link’s face.

It was the same expression the Hero had worn, minutes before driving the sword through Ganondorf’s chest.


	19. Legacy

With Link becoming increasingly distant, Ganondorf had to figure out how to acquire the Triforce himself. All three pieces of it had to be united, and the unified power would appear in the Temple of Time. But in past lives, he’d brought himself, the Hero and the princess to the temple, and no such power had appeared. Something had been missing.

In the meantime, he ingratiated himself with the nobles and bureaucrats of the court, keeping an ear pricked for useful information, and an eye out for any Sheikah watching him. He sent Fork on missions to eavesdrop, and on one such occasion she discovered Zelda’s favorite hiding spot—and the time of her next rendezvous. He followed the directions Fork laid out for him, through a hallway that had been turned to rubble.

“I’m sorry,” Zelda said. “I’m so sorry, Mipha.”

He stopped before turning the corner, and if not for the Sheikah alarms he would have turned invisible. As it was, he eavesdropped the old-fashioned way, careful to see without being seen.

Around the corner, Zelda and Mipha sat on a large stone slab that hadn’t yet been cleared.

“It’s not your fault,” Mipha said. “I know you’re supposed to have children.”

He frowned. Not what he’d been looking for, but the subject might prove useful.

Zelda dropped her gaze, a shadow passing over her face. Mipha stroked her cheek.

“I’m sure it will be alright. You have time.”

“Time?” Zelda laughed bitterly. “Not if Calatia has their say. They’re already questioning my paternity.”

“They’re wrong.” Mipha leaned in, resting her forehead against Zelda’s. “You know that. _I_ know that.”

Ganondorf stiffened. The Yiga had brought up Calatia as well—and the possibility of invasion.

There was something in Mipha’s voice, something about the way the two girls moved so comfortably in each other’s space. Something gentle and intense, that made him feel almost ashamed for listening.

Zelda closed her eyes. “It’s just—the arrows. If I couldn’t summon them when we were attacked—”

“Then it wasn’t your time yet,” Mipha said. “Perhaps the gods are saving the power for when you truly need it.”

“That’s a frightening thought.”

“Sorry,” Mipha said.

“You’re fine!” Zelda put on a watery smile. “I appreciate you being there for me.”

Mipha smiled back, softly, one hand ghosting over Zelda’s dark ringlets.

“It’s my pleasure.”

He _had_ to be here, Ganondorf reminded himself. He had to collect secret information about the royal family to protect himself, and Link, and acquire the Triforce. They might be two girls having a private moment, but this was why he’d come to the castle in the first place, even if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

“I’d love it if,” Zelda started. She gulped. “If it weren’t for the bloodline, if it weren’t for Calatia—”

“I know, my love.” Mipha rested her head on Zelda’s shoulder. “I’d love that, too.”

Oh.

 _This_ was why Zelda was so sensitive about her mother. It was bad enough that the crown princess’ legitimacy was being called into question. To fail to carry on the bloodline, to risk Hyrule falling into foreign hands…

“We could run away together,” Zelda said. “I’d abdicate. I’d spend my days cataloging frogs and digging up fossils, and you’d be my brilliant doctor wife.”

“Not a doctor yet.” Mipha giggled. “You’d get dirt onto everything.”

“And you would bring in puddles. We’d have to hire a maid.”

Ganondorf leaned against the wall, shaking his head in bafflement. Zelda was the princess of Hyrule, second in power only to the Regent and General Urbosa, and if she inherited Hyrule she’d become the most powerful person on the continent. She could shape the world to her liking, and she’d throw that all away?

“Some place by the river,” Mipha said. “So Dad could visit us.”

“He’d approve?”

Mipha nodded. “He said he just wanted me to be happy.”

“Lucky,” Zelda said, smile fading.

Mipha reached up, and traced her thumb across Zelda’s dark brown cheek.

“I thought your mother had been softening recently?”

“She has.” Zelda sighed, and rested her head against Mipha’s hand. “But she already has too much on her shoulders. In between Calatia, her health, and my lack of magic—she has enough trouble defending me.”

Mipha pressed a light kiss to Zelda’s temple.

“She does it because she believes in you,” she said. “We all do.”

Zelda hummed, eyes fixed on the floor. “The Queen of Calatia could summon holy arrows when she was twelve.”

Around the corner, Ganondorf crossed his arms, and his eyes fixed upon an errant crack in the stone floor. He could blackmail her with this. He could use their relationship to split the court in two, to break apart Zelda and her mother, to turn his enemies against each other. And yet…

Mipha scrunched up her face, gills flaring in annoyance.

“The Queen of Calatia tried to pay Revali in birdseed,” she muttered.

Zelda snorted. “She did apologize.”

“There’s a reason why you have the Triforce of Wisdom, not her.”

“If only I knew what that reason was,” Zelda remarked dryly.

“ _Zelda.”_ Mipha’s voice was soft but exasperated. “I know you don’t want to burden your mother, but holding this in is a burden for you, too.”

“I’m a princess. I have to be strong for my _vaama_ , and for my people.”

Ganondorf’s fingers tightened in the folds of his sleeve.

“I don’t think of Zorana every time I make a decision,” Mipha said. “I love my country. I’d die for it. But making myself miserable isn’t going to help anyone.”

“Zorana won’t have a succession crisis if you don’t have children.”

All this time, he’d seen Zelda as an enemy, an obstacle. Her mother and country’s expectations had put her under immense pressure, and she had to hide parts of herself for their sakes. Not so different from Link having to live at court and play nice with people he hated for the sake of furthering Ganondorf’s plan.

Blast it all, he’d come here to use the princess, not to _understand_ her.

Around the corner, Zelda spoke in a small voice.

“I don’t want to fight with Mom.”

“We’ll find a way,” Mipha said. “There has to be one.”

How much was Link holding back? What was going on in his head that he couldn’t say? Even if they didn’t become enemies like in previous lives, Link might revoke his support for Ganondorf’s goals. He might drift away, or leave. Would it be for the same reason Zelda couldn’t speak to her mother? The inability to be open, to trust, to count on a parent to listen?

Ganondorf had to find a way to reconnect with his son. He ran a hand through his hair, and heaved a sigh.

The sound made Zelda startle.

“Who’s there?” She rose, and ran to look around the corner. At the sight of Ganondorf, her face twisted into a scowl.

“ _You_. How much did you hear?”

It would be a massive scandal. For the court to discover that the crown princess couldn’t fire holy arrows, and that she wanted a partner who couldn’t continue the royal bloodline...Ganondorf could destroy her with this information.

Out loud, he simply said, “Enough.”

“What do you want?” she said. “Money? Power? A title?”

Ganondorf wrinkled his lip. She knew what he was really after, but there was no point in arguing it.

He could wreck her life. And that was probably a wise idea, after she had wrecked _his,_ multiple times. And yet.

And yet she was just a girl, trying to fill boots too big for her.

At last, he said, “I don’t want anything.”

She studied him with narrowed eyes.

“Trust me,” he said, “there is nothing I would like less than to interfere in your family squabbles.”

“And why should I believe that?”

“Because I’d rather you be with Princess Mipha than trying to court Link.”

“ _What?”_

Her face was a beautiful combination of confused, amazed and horrified. He would treasure the memory of it forever.

“No!” she sputtered. “I mean, he’s a great guy, but—no. _No.”_

Mipha giggled. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

“So, no,” Ganondorf said. “I haven’t the least objection, and I hope you make each other happy.”

To his own surprise, he meant it. With the violent overthrow of Hyrule off the table, there was no point in trying to knock her family off the throne. All he needed was the Triforce. He didn’t know how to bring that about, but in the meantime it would be easier if Zelda stayed in the same place: that is, as a princess in the castle.

It definitely wasn’t because she reminded him of Link. Not at all.

Mipha smiled sweetly and bowed. “Thank you. We wish for your health and happiness as well.”

Zelda hid her face in her hands. She made a muffled noise that was probably meant to be agreement.

As he departed, Zelda’s wary brown eyes bored into his back.

* * *

Resurgence Day arrived, and with it, the festival. Almost forty acres of brightly colored tents, booths and food carts covered the Hyrule plain, lanterns of red, blue, green, gold and silver shimmering as the sun set. But no crowds walked through it yet: a wooden fence had been erected around the fairgrounds, with one well-guarded entrance, and right now the gate was shut. On the stage in front, Zelda was giving another speech to the gathered masses, some twaddle about hope in adversity and the power of working together.

He and Link arrived late on purpose, and kept to the edge of the crowd. Link had gotten better at filtering out noise—had to, with the reconstruction around the castle—and his mask meant he could go out tonight without being accosted by overly touchy fans. But it was better to have an escape route in case he needed it.

Zelda hadn’t been kidding about the masks. At first Ganondorf had carried it in case she came by and asked whether he liked her “gift” or not. But after too many odd looks from the other attendees, he grit his teeth and put it on.

What Zelda _hadn’t_ said was that the Hero and Queen masks for were kids and teenagers. Adults like Ganondorf wore _pig_ masks, which were apparently supposed to represent...him. Ganondorf did not appreciate the likeness. He definitely didn’t appreciate it when little kids in green ran up to him and thwacked him with their wooden swords.

“This is the most tasteless, keese-brained holiday I’ve ever heard of.”

“Nice tusks,” Link signed.

“Oh, shut up,” he muttered, voice muffled by the pig snout.

Link’s mask—of course Zelda had sent him a Hero mask—did nothing to hide his snicker as another brat attacked Ganondorf’s shins.

At last, Zelda finished her speech, and the crowd burst into shouts of “Long live Hyrule!” and “Hail the princess!” The guards unlocked the gate, heaved it open with a creak that groaned across the plain, and thousands of people streamed in. Zelda jumped off the stage and rejoined her Sheikah attendants, and they vanished into the throng.

At first the festival was subdued, with soldiers stationed at every corner, and “Yiga Wanted” posters stitched into the tarps. Occasionally, a soldier would take someone aside and have them take off their mask. Overhead, Rito guards scanned the grounds from above.

“Link! There you are!”

Sidon was decked out in glow-paint and Gerudo jewelry, mask hanging uselessly on his head-tail. Not that it could have disguised him even if he wore it. He ran to them, but slowed as he got a better view of Link. He stopped a few feet away, and signed awkwardly.

“Zelda, Mipha, and I looked for you. You want to join us?”

Link removed his mask to sign better. “Depends how chaotic things get. I wasn’t planning to stay long.”

Sidon frowned, and repeated the sign for “chaotic” quizzically.

“C-h-a-o-t-i-c,” Link spelled.

“Oh!” Sidon said aloud. “Don’t worry, it’s—” he switched back to signs. “Not many people, it’s a quiet place.” He pointed toward a small tent at the edge of the grounds. “Games.”

Link looked over, considering. “Which games?”

Sidon looked vaguely panicked, and stared at his hands as if they’d magically find the vocabulary on their own. He resorted to trying to mime something Ganondorf couldn’t identify.

“That’s gibberish, Sidon,” Link signed, cracking a smile.

“Fine!” Sidon said aloud, throwing up his hands. “We’re playing Miniblin! And Four-Fly! You like Four-Fly, right? Everybody likes Four-Fly. And there’s four of us, so you won’t have to play with any weirdos.”

“Besides you?”

Sidon whined. “Link...”

“Okay, okay,” Link signed. “I don’t know what Four-Fly is.”

Sidon gasped, whole body recoiling in horror. “That is a tragedy and we must fix it immediately!”

He reached out to grab Link’s arm, but caught himself, leaving his hand outstretched awkwardly in mid-air. Link laughed, but reached back, and allowed Sidon to drag him over to the games tent.

A part of Ganondorf would have protested. Sidon was still part of the Hyrulean government, and Zelda was trying to convert Link to their side. Ganondorf had intended for this to be a father-son outing, a chance to reconnect. But if Sidon could make Link laugh, after Link had been so moody lately…

A terrible _thwack_ exploded on Ganondorf’s shin, and he glared down to find yet another small child looking up at him in green.

“When I conquer Hyrule,” he muttered, “this festival is the first thing I will ban.”

“Okay, Ganon,” the child chirped, before scurrying off.

He removed his mask to avoid getting attacked by any more terrible children. Link hadn’t been that bad at that age, had he?

No. He’d been worse.

As the night wore on, and the drinks flowed, the crowd grew into a lively hubbub. Rito acrobats performed glow-in-the-dark aerial dances, Gerudo artists painted children’s faces, and a contest started in which people teamed up with Gorons and rolled their bigger partners through an obstacle course. There was music all around, played by instruments that hadn’t existed in Ganondorf’s last life, and a stage play of _The Hunter and the Viper_.

Link stayed out longer than expected, considering all the people about. Ganondorf spotted him in passing a few times, even riding a Rito at one point, so he didn’t worry. Besides, Link was old and responsible enough to take care of himself. Assuming he didn’t get into any heroics.

It was a pleasant way to spend the evening, once Ganondorf got away from the leg-wacking hordes. Despite the damage to their city, the Hyruleans had put up nearly a hundred booths, rides and activities, along with food stalls featuring cuisine from all over the country. The Rito ale was surprisingly decent, but nothing could make him try the summersmokes.

Ganondorf had settled into a tent serving as a bar, when the air shrieked with an unearthly noise, and the blast of a daruk rang out.

He jumped to his feet. More shots broke out, echoing from all directions at once. Hisses, sizzles, shrieks, cannon-bursts. He slammed a rupee on the counter and ran outside. Every person had stopped and turned their head to the stars.

Another shot cracked through the night, high over their heads, and the stars flew from the sky. No, not stars. Streaks of light burst out, like volleys of flaming arrows, each one fading into darkness as it fell to earth. White streaks, blue and gold like the Hyrulean flag, teal and silver like Zorana’s, then deep Gerudo scarlet, and so on through the other provinces. Every boom presaged an explosion of light and color between the stars. Each time, people shouted “To Tabantha!” “To Eldin!” or whatever other colors they recognized.

The pounding in his chest eased, though each boom shook him like a daruk. No one was being attacked. No one was after Link. They were safe. Well, as safe as anyone could be, with a demonic spirit watching his every move. There were no wild Yiga chases tearing through the festival, no soldiers running toward him or his son.

But _Link_ was running toward _him_.

Link’s mask was gone, and his face ashen in fear. He wove through the crowd, startling several people, including one violet-feathered Rito who shrieked and dropped his ice cream cone.

“Hey!” the Rito shouted. “You better pay for that!”

He flew up to give chase. Link grabbed Ganondorf’s arm and pulled him aside, past more fair-goers, behind the booths, under canopies and out the other side until they lost his pursuer in the throng.

“Link, calm down!” Ganondorf pulled back his arm. “It’s ice cream, not a felony.”

Link panted, eyes darting everywhere, finally landing on an empty tent near the festival’s edge.

“There,” he signed. “Let’s—there.”

“That’s fine, as long as you calm down.”

Inside the tent, Link sat facing the exit, legs crisscrossed under him. His shoulders shook terribly, and he lay his head in his hands, breathing fast and hard. Ganondorf sat down beside him.

“It’s alright,” he said aloud. “You’re safe here. We’re both safe.”

The booms continued in the sky outside, and each one sent another tremor through Link.

“They’re not daruk shots. It’s a light show using Goron-powder to make noises in the sky. No one is getting hurt.”

Link let out a small grunt, and with difficulty, began to slow his breaths. He lifted his eyes to the exit, blinked rapidly, and sighed. His hand drifted down to fiddle with a pendant—the iron rings Zelda had given him weeks before. The other hand tapped an old melody from his organ lessons.

After a few minutes, the explosions stopped, and he slumped against the wall of the tent.

“Sorry I freaked out.”

Ganondorf waved that away. “Bad memories?”

Link’s gaze dropped down to his rings. He nodded.

Perhaps it was a mercy that Link never remembered his previous lifetimes. He had more than enough to deal with in this one.

Link spun the rings around on their chain, pursing his lips. He let them go and looked up.

“Dad?”

“Yes, Link?”

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

Ganondorf snorted. “Likewise.”

Link studied him for a moment more, and drew a deep breath.

“Also,” he signed slowly, “I’m sorry.”

“Not necessary.” Ganondorf waved that away. “I’m hardly going to be upset that you cared.”

Link flinched.

“No, I mean,” his hands fumbled, “I’ve been...not very caring, lately.”

Ganondorf frowned, and opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t find words in either language.

“I was mad for a while about the castle thing,” Link signed, “and then because you wanted me to play nice with people I detested. But I shouldn’t have shut you out like that.”

“I asked much of you,” Ganondorf admitted. “It must have been...difficult.”

Link looked out to the fairgrounds. “I guess it hasn’t been all bad.”

He was probably thinking of Zelda, Sidon and Mipha. Ganondorf suppressed a scowl. They _weren’t_ so bad, but their friendship would only last as long as their goals didn’t conflict with his or Link’s.

“The important thing,” Link signed, “is that we’re both alive and okay. Right?”

The hole in Ganondorf’s chest tugged at him, cold and dark. He could only imagine the shadow nearby, watching them, ready to pull their fragile lives apart.

“Of course,” he said quietly. “Of course we are.”


	20. Hylian

The morning after Resurgence Day was the quietest since they’d moved into the castle, and Ganondorf took time to enjoy the silence. He stood at the parlor window, a cup of Akkalan tea in hand, observing the empty courtyard. The detritus had been cleared away, and the masons had prepared the stone for rebuilding, but he could see past where the eastern walls once stood, into the remains of the neighborhood where the Belgorath fell. He winced at the memory, and took another long sip.

The servants delivered lunch at midday, and Link shuffled out of his room, yawning. He stopped when he spotted Ganondorf waiting for him at the dining table.

“Oh, no. That’s your ‘serious conversation’ face.”

“You’re not in trouble,” Ganondorf signed. “Get something to eat and we’ll talk after.”

Link raised his eyebrows, but sat down. He set aside a plate of biscuits and sausages for Fork, then tucked into some for himself. As promised, Ganondorf waited until they’d cleared their plates before signing again.

“I believe I owe you an apology.”

Link gave him a puzzled look.

“When I accepted Princess Zelda’s offer, I disregarded your wishes. I underestimated the strain the move would put on you, and I made you pretend to befriend her and the Zora, despite your dislike of them.”

Link shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m not mad anymore.”

“Regardless, these demands were unreasonable, and I will no longer ask them of you.”

Link’s brows knit together, and he fidgeted for a moment.

“What if I don’t want to pretend anymore?”

“Then don’t,” Ganondorf signed. “If you wish to stop associating with the princess, I’ll deal with her myself.”

“No, I mean, what if I wanted to be her friend for real?”

Ganondorf frowned.

“And Mipha and Sidon.” Link took a deep breath. “I know you don’t like them, but I don’t think they’re bad people.”

“You don’t think the princess of Hyrule is responsible for the Hyrulean army?”

“I think blaming her for her mother’s decisions isn’t going to help anything.”

Ganondorf was silent.

“You don’t have to like her,” Link signed. “Sometimes I can’t even look at her or her mom. But if she’s willing to learn better, I want to give her a chance.”

“If only her soldiers had given your friends the same courtesy.”

“Dad, _please,”_ Link signed, leaning forward for emphasis. “You and Zelda can think whatever you want about each other, but don’t drag me into the middle of it.”

Ganondorf pulled back, a knot twisting in his stomach. He picked up his tea, and took another long sip before answering.

“You don’t want to be involved in my work anymore?”

“Not this work.”

Link didn’t hesitate. It hurt, more than it should. But honestly...it wasn’t a surprise.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ganondorf signed. “But so be it.”

Link looked away, fingers drumming against the oaken table. At length, he took a deep breath, and signed again.

“What if there was another way to get justice?”

Ganondorf raised an eyebrow. “Is it one of Zelda’s ideas?”

“No, Dad.” Link rolled his eyes. “I want my friends to meet Fork.”

“Your friends.”

“Yes.” He looked back levelly. “Zelda, Mipha and Sidon.”

Ganondorf was going to need a drink stronger than tea for this.

“Absolutely not,” he said. “I allowed Fork to come with us on the condition that she would stay hidden from the Hyruleans.”

Link nodded, not breaking eye contact. “And I’m asking you to reconsider.”

“Out of the question. If the future queen of Hyrule discovers—”

“Zelda will be thrilled.” Link grinned. “Have you seen her parasitic wasp collection? The biggest risk to Fork is that Zelda will want to keep her.”

Ganondorf shook his head.

“Fork will _not_ be meeting the nobles,” he signed. “They’re not like moblins and bokoblins. You can’t assume that they are what they appear to be.”

Link snorted. “I’m not sure how Sidon could be anything else.”

Ganondorf rubbed his forehead. Not the blasted fish prince again.

“You seem awfully fond of him.”

“He’s fun to mess with.” Link’s eyes took on a mischievous glint. “Overreacts to everything.”

Ganondorf raised his hands to sign, then stopped. Parents didn’t choose their children’s spouses anymore. Even Gerudo boys usually married for love now, and Link wasn’t a Gerudo by blood. If Ganondorf objected, it would drive a wedge between them again.

“Link,” he signed at last, “I may not approve of your choice of...friends...”

Link’s smile dimmed. “I know.”

“But,” he continued, “I won’t ask you to stop seeing them. You’re responsible enough to choose who to trust.”

Link perked up.

“And who to date.” He grimaced. “Even an obnoxious fishman.”

Link beamed, then his eyes widened and he shook his head.

“Thanks, but I’m not interested in him like that.”

“Very well. But in case—”

Link rapidly shook his hands. “Yes, I know you’re being open-minded and supportive, and I appreciate it, but I swear I’m not dating Sidon.” He made a pained noise. “He’s a great guy, but sometimes he can be too much.”

Ganondorf let out a huge breath of relief, and Link chuckled.

“Come to think of it,” Link signed, “I’m not sure I want to date anybody.”

Ganondorf blinked. An uncommon preference, but not unheard of, even in his time.

“Not anyone?”

“Maybe in the future,” Link signed. “I don’t think I’d mind being with a guy, girl, or vey, but...”

He paused, gathering his words.

“I’m still figuring out this friendship thing. Zelda, Mipha and Sidon are nice about it, but...I’m barely keeping up with them.” He winced. “I can’t imagine how much more complicated it would be if I threw dating into the picture.”

Ganondorf frowned, and leaned forward. “What do you mean, barely keeping up?”

“It’s like you said,” Link signed. “Moblins and bokoblins make sense _._ Hyruleans...”

“Don’t,” Ganondorf finished.

“It’s like there’s always two conversations, and one of them is never actually _said_ but I’m still supposed to understand it.” He shuddered. “They get emotional, and I have to figure out who’s feeling what, at who, and why. By the time I’ve caught up, they’re feeling something else. And if I can’t guess it immediately they’ll think I haven’t been paying attention.”

Ganondorf’s frown deepened as Link went on.

“You have to pay conscious attention to those things?”

Link paused. “Don’t you?”

For a few awkward moments, they stared at each other, and a cold, heavy feeling dripped into Ganondorf’s gut.

“If I’d known how much I was asking of you...”

“I _can_ do it,” Link signed, waving that away. “But I don’t want to make things even more complicated by dating. Maybe next year.”

“Maybe,” Ganondorf agreed. “Link?”

“Hmm?”

“You should know...” He stopped. Started again. “You’re different, but that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you. Or with the way you communicate.”

Link cocked his head, brows pinching together.

“Dad, _I_ talk normally. _They’re_ the ones making things needlessly complicated. They could learn something from the bokoblins.”

Ganondorf felt his jaw go slack, and the cold feeling was joined by something warm. Pride.

“Fair enough,” he signed. “But you’re not introducing Fork to the nobles.”

Link huffed. “It was worth a shot.”

“I’m glad you’re thinking about what you’re ready for.” He chuckled. “Sidon must have been crushed.”

Link ducked his head, but it didn’t hide his smile.

“We’ve decided to stay friends.” His gaze drifted to the wood grain of the table. “You know, the city’s awful, but some of the people are nice.”

A third feeling joined the others, something shapeless and indecisive, and it must have shown on his face, because Link chuckled.

“Don’t worry, I won’t forget about you.” His smile widened. “You’ll have more time to spend with your adult friends doing, I don’t know, golf? Gardening? What’s a stereotypical adult hobby?”

Ganondorf gaped. _“Golf?”_

“Come to think of it,” Link signed, “ _do_ you have any friends? Servants you summoned from beyond the veil don’t count.”

He shook his head in bewilderment, then wanted to kick himself when he realized it looked like a “no.”

“Where is this coming from?”

Link raised an eyebrow. “You need something to do besides looking after me and moping all the time.”

“I do not mope.”

“Right. You brood and strategize and study the sorcerous arts. Sure.”

Ganondorf glowered. When had his son become such a disrespectful little cur?

“I know there’s a lot wrong with this town,” Link signed, “but there’s good things, too. Find a hobby. Meet people.”

Ganondorf wouldn’t even know where to begin. He sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Link’s lips quirked up. “You could always let a giant monster fall on you. That’s what worked for me.”

“Do _not_ joke about that.”

“Sorry.” Link smiled bashfully. “But Dad?”

Ganondorf swirled the last dregs of tea in his cup. “Yes?”

“I’ve been thinking,” he signed, eyes darting away for a second. “I’m lucky to have you. Zelda talks about her mom sometimes, and her mom’s not _bad_ to her. But she’s not really there for her, either. Not like you are for me.” He swallowed, and took a breath. “I never appreciated that, before.”

Ganondorf was frozen where he sat. He had no idea how to respond to that, or if he even could. His throat had gone tight and his hands were stuck around his cup.

Link leapt to his feet, and picked up the plate he’d set aside for Fork.

“I’m gonna...take Fork her lunch.”

“Right,” Ganondorf said automatically.

Link walked away, but stopped at the entrance to the hallway. He set the plate on a counter before making eye contact again.

“I’m just saying,” he signed, “you deserve to be happy, too.”

* * *

The first chill of winter swept in that afternoon. The carpenters were hammering away now, and the masons laying mortar. Link and Zelda had run off to the grove of trees by the temple to collect dragonflies. Fork was curled up on Link’s bed, belly full from pilfered sausages.

Ganondorf wrapped his cloak tighter around himself as he trudged through the courtyard and out the castle gate. People brushed past him, walking, flying, occasionally riding. Guards yawned at their posts. In the distance, if he listened, he could make out Goron criers bellowing the latest news from Eldin.

Market Square was as choked with crowds as ever, air sharp with haggling, hoof-beats, grumbles and giggles. In its center, the statues of the Hero and Zelda the Great stood watch over their people, back to back like the team they were born to be. In Ganondorf’s heart, the wound from the Master Sword ached.

He had failed.

There was no other way to put it. Fifteen years of scheming, and lying, and badmouthing Hyrule, and isolating Link from anyone who could tell him different, and Ganondorf failed. He had the same desire for justice that fed Ganondorf’s grudge for centuries, the same stubbornness that would rip the sky in half before giving up. But when Zelda apologized, Link forgave; when her people were in peril, he let them live.

Ganondorf squinted against the clear afternoon light, studying the Hero’s face in bronze. He’d been paler in his last life, and his gaze harsher, hardened from years of warfare and running. But beyond that, they were the same, unmistakable even without the Triforce mark to prove it.

Was it Link who befriended Zelda again so readily, or was it the Hero, destiny recognizing what memory could not?

 _You took a viper into your nest,_ the voice said in the back of his mind. _Don’t be surprised if it bites you._

“My son is not an _it_ ,” he whispered. The voice went silent again.

He walked to the townhouse, and unlocked it for the first time in six weeks. It looked the same, except for his library, and Link’s collection of jarred specimens and mechanical toys, which they’d taken to the castle. Behind a false wall and under a floorboard, the daruk remained hidden, alongside his maps and plans for conquest. He took the latter out and spread the papers across his desk.

He could have returned earlier. He could have probably kidnapped Zelda by now, or destroyed Hyrule Castle from the inside, or found a way around the invisibility detectors. Perhaps he could have even held the unified Triforce in his hands. But Link had needed time to recover. And then Ganondorf had needed to rebuild the trust between them.

_Excuses, excuses._

He slumped against the desk, and sighed.

No, he hadn’t needed those things. He’d wanted them. He _needed_ to acquire the Triforce. That was his life’s mission for over nine hundred years: Get the Triforce, and use it to wreak vengeance upon Hyrule.

And yet, when he summoned the Belgorath, he turned it away from the civilian districts. He allowed the nobles to escape with their lives. He even let Zelda keep her secrets, either of which could cause an international scandal. Why did he bother? Link didn’t even know.

But maybe Link didn’t need to know. He was healthy and active. He had friends, hobbies, confidence. The other day, he’d even brought up the idea of relocating Ganondorf’s remaining minions to Akkala, so they could build a sanctuary where the cities used to be, and Hyrule could recognize them as protected species. It was a pipe-dream, probably. But it was good that he was thinking about the future.

It was good that he _had_ a future, and wasn’t just a pawn of destiny again.

Ganondorf took a deep breath, and collected the conquest plans in a thick pile of paper and parchment. Some plans were for invasions; others were monster attacks like the Belgorath; a few involved co-opting the Calatian army or Labrynnese pirates. None were compatible with the life Link imagined: a life where Zelda took the throne as she was supposed to, and the Triforce remained scattered and untouched.

_A life that doesn’t align with yours._

The words and diagrams seemed to blur on the pages, and Ganondorf’s hands were shaking.

Nine hundred years ago, nearly a thousand now, the Hylians had slaughtered his tribe. He’d been forced to watch, helpless, as the survivors were stripped of their lands, wealth, food and dignity. Today, almost every door in the Hylian capital was Gerudo-sized, and the heir to the throne was a half-Gerudo girl. Urbosa had never even heard of oppression against her people.

_Will you forget, as they did? Will you leave your family’s memory to rot?_

A few months ago, Link had lost Sunshroom, and Arrow, and nearly all his other friends, in almost the same way Ganondorf had. He, too, wanted justice for their deaths. In the greatest of ironies, he probably understood Ganondorf best.

Somewhere between the stars, the goddesses must have been laughing.

But while Ganondorf had pursued vengeance over all else, Link’s idea of justice was to protect others from suffering as he had. Nor did he pursue it all the time. In the past three days he’d caught centipedes, learned a card game, and cajoled Sidon into giving him a Ritoback ride. Not the Hero, just a teenage boy, living.

_A boy who would kill you if he knew what you really were._

The papers wrinkled in his hand, then crumpled, indents forming where his nails bit into their folds.

Could living be enough? Could Ganondorf be satisfied with that _,_ without the mission he’d pursued for centuries? What would he even do with himself? What was he, without the burning need for revenge?

_Would you throw away a thousand years of struggle? Would you throw away Varuq?_

In his other hand, he lit a flame, and set the papers on fire.

An invisible force slammed him into the ground, and his skin felt like it was being peeled off one layer at a time. It left him uncomfortably lighter, as if his bones had vanished inside him, and left a gaping hollow in their place. He attempted to sit up, but the room spun and teetered around him.

“Show yourself, demon.”

Kneeling on the floor, he tried to summon another ball of flame, but it didn’t come.

“Wretched creature,” he said. “When I get my magic back—”

_Your magic? Please. You have nothing which I did not give you. And everything I gave, I can take back._

He froze, and a terrible memory struck him. The shadow from the desert. He’d gained his magic by making a deal, centuries ago, with a spirit on the edge of fading to nothing. The spirit had disappeared soon afterward, or so he’d thought.

_The light dawns! Or rather, the shadow. Give the man a summersmoke!_

“You’ve been here all along,” he said. “You kept pushing the Belgorath attack after I tried to withdraw.” His eyes hardened. “You tried to kill Link.”

_Only because you kept tripping over him. How do you expect to crush Hyrule if you can’t even crush one boy?_

Ganondorf’s blood grew cold. “You want a war,” he whispered. “You want the throne of Hyrule for yourself.”

A not-sound resounded, halfway garbled between a cat’s hiss and a fox’s scream, sending tremors of pain through his bones.

 _What use does a god have for a throne?_ The voice said, and he realized the sound was laughter. _Hyrule is an anthill._

The tremors grew worse, joined by a throbbing in his skull.

_You were a useful ant, for a while. You brought me what I needed._

An unseen presence stalked about the room. But it wasn’t invisible, as he had been. It was more of a hum vibrating through the air, through the floor, down to the earth itself. A hum of something ancient, and twisted, and hungry.

_But I grow bored, and I don’t need you anymore._

The presence stilled, and he could feel it watching him, as if it had seeped into the furniture and turned everything into its eyes.

_You know what would be fun? I think I’ll flood the anthill with cyanide._

A sensation like freezing water crashed into him, and sent him to the floor. He felt the glamour fading, and the mark of the Triforce reappeared on his hand, burning like a hot poker on his skin.

“Who...what are you?” Ganondorf whispered, throat raw as sandpaper.

The voice chuckled, like the roll of a distant thunderstorm.

_My true name would burst your eardrums to hear. But the Hylians call me...Demise._

The laughter ceased, and the presence vanished from the room. Outside the window, the sky turned black, and the ground started to shake. Ganondorf hauled himself to his feet, wheezing. His reflection in the window looked like a different face—his real face. The face of an old man.

His whole body ached, in ways he hadn’t known it could. From the throbbing in his head, shooting down his back, to knees that protested as he heaved himself off the ground. His scimitar practice in the desert was useless now, meant for a younger, stronger, magically-supported frame.

The shaking grew louder. The furniture rattled out of place, and Link’s drawing of Varuq clattered to the floor. The conquest plans had long since burnt to ash. Ganondorf grabbed the daruk from its hiding place, covered his head with one arm, and scrambled out the door before the ceiling caved in.

In the street, people were screaming and running toward the city gates. The orderly evacuation lines were no more. He’d run, too, but he had to find Link first.

Link, Link...Where was he? Could Ganondorf even—yes. Demise had revoked the magic it granted him, but he’d earned the Triforce mark himself. It burned on his hand, and pulled to the east, toward the castle.

He ran against the flow of the crowd, shoulder-checking several Zora and Gerudo, hole in his chest aching again. Every collision hit like a stone, and every slam of his feet against the ground sent fresh waves of pain up his spine. He grimaced, but didn’t stop. Just a few blocks more to the market, then to the palace. He dodged and swerved against the masses, and ducked the occasional Rito. But at the entrance to Market Square, he stopped.

In the middle of the cobblestones, where once the statues stood, a gaping pit had opened up. A hundred voices screeched from within, wailing, sobbing, shouting. The center writhed with darkness, like weeping sores on scalded skin. At its edges, the pit rippled ever wider, swallowing the ground stone by stone like a giant lamprey mouth. It stank of rotting meat.

Nausea swelled in his stomach, and he covered his mouth with one hand as he searched for a detour. The buildings around the square were crumpling like paper sucked into a storm drain. His eyes landed on the sole remaining road to the castle. He darted into side-streets further out from the pit, keeping a hand over his head at all times. More than once, he needed it, as bricks and scaffolding fell apart around him.

At the castle gate, nobles and servants were rushing out. Gorons made themselves into living shields, stony arms covering Zora and Gerudo heads. Rito flew out with Hylians on their backs. Several people tried to stop Ganondorf as he charged past, but he shook off their holds. The gate opened up into the courtyard, and the Triforce of Power pulled to the north, towards the Temple of Time.

The temple where the Master Sword rested. Where Link’s destiny rested.

Ganondorf’s stomach churned, cold and tight.

“You!” Urbosa called. She was leading a team of guards out of the keep and towards the gate. “Who are you, and why aren’t you evacuating?”

He grimaced, and raced toward the temple, guards hot on his heels. He burst through the doors to find the Master Sword glowing in its plinth, casting unearthly light through the hall, illuminating the heavy door to the Triforce Sanctuary behind it. On one side of the plinth stood Zelda, cheeks ashen with worry. And there, opposite her, stood Link.

Link, whose hair was brown.

He didn’t even glance up at the sound of the doors slamming open, his now-blue eyes frozen on the brunette strands in his palm. His skin was the same warm brown, but everything else was a dead ringer for his previous incarnation, from the pointed nose to the way he held his shoulders.

He turned his palm over, and on the back of his hand glowed the Triforce of Courage.

 _No_ , Ganondorf thought. _No, no, no…_

“Link!”

Zelda and Link’s eyes both snapped to him. Her eyes widened, then narrowed at the painful, burning marks on each of their hands.

“Ganon,” she said, spitting his name like a curse.

Link stared at him, hands frozen as if seeing Ganondorf for the first time. Which, Ganondorf supposed, he was. Link’s blue Hylian eyes were calm—so wrong, they should have been amber—his jaw slack, only the faint furrow of his brow betrayed any hint of emotion. It was the blank face of the Hero who killed him three hundred years ago, a face Ganondorf had once interpreted as boredom and contempt. But what it meant now, he couldn’t say.

“Link,” he signed, leaning the daruk against the wall as a sign of good faith. “It’s me. Your father. _Dad._ ”

“Don’t you dare,” Zelda said, shoulders rising. “Don’t you dare lie to us again. Urbosa!”

His body could barely react before Urbosa pinned his hands behind his back and pressed a knife to his throat. The ground rumbled beneath them.

“I told you,” Zelda said, turning to Link. “You have to draw the sword, before whatever he summoned attacks us—”

“I didn’t summon it!” Ganondorf snapped. “You think I’d put my son in danger like that?”

Urbosa smacked him with the flat side of the knife. “Quiet, traitor!”

Link shook himself. “Wait,” he signed. “Everyone stop. Why do I look different, why does _he_ look different, and why is he pinned down?”

Zelda blinked, needing a second to understand him.

“You’re the reincarnation of the Hero,” she said. “The mark on your hand proves it. You’re fated to draw the Master Sword and defeat Ganon.”

“I don’t recall signing up for that.”

“You didn’t,” Ganondorf said. “You don’t have to do this.”

“He lied to you,” Zelda said. “Probably stole you from your real parents—”

“I did _not_ steal him.”

“—To keep you from realizing your destiny, so he could conquer Hyrule—”

“Link, it’s your choice, this isn’t—”

Urbosa jabbed her elbow into his back, cutting off his words. Link’s gaze darted between the three of them.

“Is _this_ why you two hate each other so much?”

The ground rumbled again, and Zelda placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Link, _please._ I know it’s sudden. I’m sorry. But we need you to draw that sword.”

His eyes widened, and he recoiled from her touch. “You want me to kill him.”

“He wants to destroy Hyrule.”

“Sounds to me like he wants us to leave.”

“He’s not here for you!” Zelda jabbed her finger toward the Triforce Sanctuary behind them. “This whole time, he’s only wanted one thing, and you were a means to getting it.”

Ganondorf shook his head. Even now, with all three pieces united, even with his mark scalding his flesh, he felt nothing from that direction. The gateway between the gods and the mortal realm remained tightly shut. He was missing something, but there was no time to ponder that now.

“Damn you, Zelda, do you want my son to _die?”_

That statement made her startle, as if shocked he could feel empathy for another creature. Even Urbosa’s grip loosened.

“You never had a son,” Zelda said, voice tight. “And you aren’t losing him. He’ll leave of his own accord, like he should have done long ago. Right, Link?”

The rumbling came again. The stained glass windows rattled in their frames, and Ganondorf’s heart rattled with them.

“General!” A soldier shouted from the entrance. “We’re under attack!”

Urbosa snapped toward him. “Execute code Minish until I get there!”

“Code Minish, understood!” He ran out, repeating the order to the courtyard.

Urbosa pressed the knife once more to Ganondorf’s throat.

“It’s too dangerous to leave him alone. Do you want him executed, or incapacitated?”

“Neither,” Zelda said. “Keep him here. He may have information on this—whatever this is.”

“Demise,” Ganondorf said.

Zelda and Urbosa gaped at him with equal shock and fury.

“How in the Seven did you summon Demise?” Urbosa snapped.

“He didn’t,” Zelda said. “Gods can’t manifest without mortal bodies to hold them.”

A voice interrupted them, booming like cannon-fire from outside the hall.

_That won’t be a problem._

It felt like Ganondorf’s ears were splitting open. Zelda jerked toward the doors.

“Show yourself!” she shouted, voice trembling. “Did Ganon summon you?”

_As if that fool could get anything right. He backed out after the Belgorath, and will burn with the rest of you._

Link froze, eyes wide in horror.

 _Did you think he loved you?_ Demise laughed like a clap of thunder. _You were only a means to an end, and the end has come._

The voice drifted away, like a storm moving on, but the shaking grew worse beneath their feet. Link stared into space in the direction of the sound, looking like Arrow and Sunshroom had been killed all over again in front of him. It sent a fresh wave of pain—no, _guilt_ —through Ganondorf’s chest.

“The sword,” Zelda prompted.

Link stared between her, Ganondorf, and the sword in its plinth.

“I’ve never held a sword in my life,” he signed. “There must be a mistake.”

“Have your existential crisis later,” she said. “We’ve got to stop that monstrosity now!”

“You don’t have to do this,” Ganondorf said. “You can leave. We can be safe.”

Link blinked at him, face a mass of conflicting emotions, before he closed his eyes and drew a breath. Something in his expression shuttered, returning to that terrible blankness.

“I’m sorry,” he signed, “but I can’t stand by while others are suffering.”

He strode to the plinth, squared his shoulders, and wrapped his shaking hands around the Master Sword’s hilt. He pulled.

It didn’t move.

A hundred feelings reared up in Ganondorf’s head, from terror that they couldn’t fight Demise to relief that maybe Link wouldn’t become the Hero after all. Half of him wanted to grab Link and run, saying, _It’s not him, he’s my boy and he always will be._ The other half was paralyzed where he stood.

Link breathed again, and something in him shifted. He stood up straighter, the lines of his face grew tighter, and his hands ceased to shake. He looked down at the sword as if to command it, and gave a mighty heave.

This time, it slid out easily.

He’d never held a sword—not in this lifetime. But he already had it in the correct grip, and when he gave it a few practice swings, his body moved with the proper form. He turned towards Zelda and Ganondorf, face set in the same cold resolve as his last life.

Zelda was beaming. Ganondorf’s world had come crashing down.


	21. Hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next both merit the "Graphic Depictions of Violence" tag, and are much more intense than the previous ones. Get the tissues ready, but it'll all be worth it in the end.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's been reading, and extra thanks to those who commented. Love you all. And with that, on to the climax!

“The rest of the court is sheltering in the bunker,” Urbosa said. “Your _vaama_ asked me to bring you there as well.”

Zelda glanced down at her hands, a shadow of insecurity whisking over her face. She tightened them into fists and swallowed.

“Tell her I’m sorry,” she said. “But I have to fight.”

“In that case, we’ll need to move to the command terrace.”

“Understood. Link?”

Link nodded, blade ready at his side. He shifted into the posture of a swordsman, and as Zelda turned to leave, he fell into step behind her, as if he’d been doing it all his life.

In his previous life, he had.

They all exited into the courtyard, and came face to face with a battlefield. Yiga, more Yiga than Ganondorf had ever seen, leapt and rolled and stabbed their way through the grounds, and more were charging in. Sheikah guards faced off against them, swords, halberds and mauls versus Yiga blades, while other Hyrulean soldiers grabbed the castle’s inhabitants and dragged them to the relative safety of the keep.

Urbosa grabbed Ganondorf’s arm, and stood between him, and Zelda and Link.

“Stay with me, _civilian,_ ” she said, voice dripping with venom. “You’re here as a captive. Nothing more.”

“Duly noted,” he said.

“Ezlo squad,” she shouted into the fracas, “cover the princess! Medli squad, protect the keep! Rutela squad, coordinate defense with the rest of the city!”

The soldiers saluted. Ezlo squadron arranged themselves into a circle centered on Zelda and Link, poleaxes and swords pointed outward. The others ran, flew and swam to the rest of the castle and surrounding guard towers. Ganondorf didn’t miss that a couple of the guards had their blades trained on him.

One of the Medli guards reached out to a little girl sobbing for her mother. But no sooner had he touched her than he let out a shout of agony, and ripped his arm away. His flesh started dissolving into maggots and acid. It spread rapidly up the rest of his body, and he collapsed to the ground. Moments later, all that remained of him was his armor.

The little girl—the not-girl—kept crying, and stumbled forward again. The rest of the soldiers backed away.

“Ranged attacks only!” Urbosa called. “Don’t touch it!”

She ran to the keep, Ezlo squad leading Zelda, Link and Ganondorf behind her. They ran up an outer staircase onto a terrace high enough to survey the entire courtyard and neighborhoods beyond the walls. And there, they saw _it._

An enormous, sickeningly pale giant had erupted from the pit in what used to be Market Square, so tall it seemed to scrape against the sky. It was vaguely Gerudo-shaped, but unnaturally gaunt, and its head was taken up entirely by a huge, bony mouth. Its four arms and three legs had too many joints, which bent in the wrong directions, and more arms were growing out of its head. On a closer look, its skin was not even skin, but the writhing forms of thousands of rotting, wailing bodies.

Mortal bodies.

Gods couldn’t manifest in the world except through mortals or the Triforce.

Demise had been collecting the corpses of people killed in Ganondorf’s wars.

The bodies could not even hold themselves together on Demise’s form, and every few seconds, one of them fell and splattered to the ground. There, they should have stopped moving, but they continued to squirm, breaking bones, melting skin. They reformed into shapes that looked almost like people, crying and begging for help.

Was this the real reason why Demise had granted Ganondorf power? Had the little girl turned into that monstrosity because of _him?_

Outside the castle walls, the soldiers were holding off the abominations with daruks and firebombs. Higher up, around the wretched bulk of Demise itself, the Rito dropped fire and cannonballs, only to be swatted from the air, wings dissolving as they plummeted to earth. Even when they struck true, every wound only spewed more acid and corpses from the behemoth’s body.

Other soldiers shot it with arrows and cables, as Link had done to the Belgorath. But instead of being dragged down, Demise simply broke off parts of itself, pelting them with boulder-sized gobs of necrotic, half-melted flesh and caustic ichor. On the ground, the acid collapsed buildings and ate away at people’s flesh, while Demise itself reformed immediately.

“Okay,” Zelda said, and drew a shaky breath. “We need...we need to get the sword in the monster.”

“A fine observation,” Ganondorf said. “The question is _how.”_

“Shut up, I’m thinking.” She lowered her head, eyes shut tight. “Any ideas, Link?”

Link leaned the sword loosely against the battlement. His gaze started at Demise’s feet, and the soldiers desperately trying to stop the titan. They couldn’t even touch it without ichor tearing them into pieces. His eyes drifted up, slowly, and his ears twitched at the distant sound of screams. He craned his neck up toward the monster’s bulbous, cancerous head.

“I need something to keep me from melting when I get close.”

Zelda bit her lip, fingers clenched tight on the stone wall.

“Magmasuit,” she said. “If it’ll keep lava out, it’ll work for this. Can you grab onto the monster, like you did for the Belgorath?”

“I need to get up to its head level,” Link signed. “Have a Rito drop me onto it.”

Zelda and Ganondorf both gaped at him.

Ganondorf said, “Last time you fell that far you nearly _died_ —”

Two of the Ezlo guards grabbed his arms and pulled him back.

Link tapped the Master Sword. “I can’t exactly _throw_ it.”

“You can’t fight if your skin is melting, either.”

“The magmasuit could prevent that,” Zelda said. “Probably.”

“ _Probably,”_ Ganondorf muttered. “And in case you haven’t noticed, the acid dissolves every Rito that flies near.”

“Then I need a very _fast_ Rito.”

“Not like anything else is working,” Zelda said. “Urbosa! Link needs the fastest Rito we have!”

Urbosa jerked her chin toward a Rito soldier. “You heard her! We need Westerwing _,_ and the magmasuit _._ And get the princess’ bow!”

The guard saluted, leapt from the ground, and flew over the wall toward the south.

Meanwhile, the little girl—or what looked like a girl—kept waddling forward, now joined by other people-shaped things stumbling into the courtyard. Medli squad retreated further, only for Demise to vomit a torrent of bile upon them. Their screams filled the air.

“No,” Zelda whispered. “That’s horrible, I can’t...”

A beam of pale blue light shot through the courtyard. A soft, glowing mist surrounded the soldiers, and they stopped struggling. Their burns faded. Zelda’s gaze snapped to where the light had originated, and her face broke into a wide smile.

“Mipha!”

The Zora girl was wet from where she’d jumped out of the pond, droplets running down her armor.

“Zelda!” she called. “Are you alright?”

“We’re okay!”

A massive figure burst from the water behind her, and Sidon took his place by her side. He was clad in a huge suit of Zora plate, claws extended, sharp teeth grinning broadly. He saluted Urbosa with a trident, and a troop of Zora guards followed him, similarly armed.

“Zorana is at your command, General.” he said. “Shall we hold the bailey?”

A faint smile twitched at the corner of Urbosa’s mouth.

“Please do, Major Dorephanius.”

The Zora team launched themselves at the Yiga and abominations, using tridents and nets to keep the poisoned blades and acid at bay, while Mipha healed any that did get through. The Sheikah and Medli squad leapt back into the fray.

On the command terrace, a violet-feathered Rito landed before Urbosa, magmasuit in his talons.

Ganondorf’s blood chilled in his veins. “No. This can’t be...”

It was the same blasted Rito from the Sheikah Center. The same one who collided with him in midair. The same one who always managed to be in the worst possible place. His beak was dented where Ganondorf had punched him.

“Captain Revali Westerwing of Tabantha,” the Rito introduced himself. “I understand you’re in need of my—”

“Magmasuit!” Urbosa said, grabbing it and handing it to Link.

The suit was thick, heavy and utterly unsuited to combat. It was completely black, and would cover him from head to toe, save for a transparent visor over his face. Except for the glow of the Master Sword, Link would be virtually impossible to see against the sky.

As Link pulled the suit on, Zelda told Revali the plan.

“You must be joking,” muttered the Rito. “Ten years of service to my country, and now I’m a glorified steed.”

Link rolled his eyes. He traced an arc from the balcony toward Demise’s head, then pointed at the Rito and himself.

“You want me to _what?”_ he squawked. “I do not _drop_ people, that goes against every—”

“It’s Link Varuqin,” she said. “The groundling who beat the Belgorath when your men couldn’t.”

Revali jerked toward Link, who gave him a thumbs-up. Revali’s hawk-like eyes narrowed to slits.

“I suppose I could drop _one_ Hylian.” He scowled, but kneeled to let Link hop onto his back. “If I need new feathers from this, you’re paying for them.”

Link patted Revali’s neck and grabbed on tight. Revali huffed, spread his wings, and then they were off.

In a matter of seconds, Link and his ride were a pinprick against the black sky. They went up, up, up past arrows and cannonballs and bombs, past columns of smoke and showers of acid.

Ganondorf couldn’t repress a shudder at how small they looked, or the frustration building up that he couldn’t do anything to help. All he could hope for was that the soldiers’ barrage was enough to distract Demise from spotting them.

Revali flew so high Ganondorf couldn’t see them anymore. For a long minute, the sky was pure black, before a tiny prick of light fell through the darkness. Link was plummeting blade-first toward Demise’s head.

A terrible knot twisted in Ganondorf’s chest.

“Please, Din,” he murmured. “Let him land, let him be...”

The monstrosity had no eyes, but something invisible made it snap towards Link. It leaned back, jaw opening wide, unhinging like a colossal serpent. And Link fell in, and the maw snapped shut.

“ _Link!”_

Ganondorf, Zelda, Mipha, and Sidon screamed his name at once. Demise bit down, and gulped.

Then a sword stabbed through the bottom of its jaw.

A screeching, hissing, wailing sound ripped through the air. Demise opened its mouth, shut it again, and ground its teeth together like bleeding saws. The sword pierced its jaw again, its lips, its tongue. Each time, the screech-hiss stabbed the air, bubbling up not from Demise’s throat but from the putrefying corpses of its flesh. The sword cut through the jaw once more, and the skin and muscle underneath ripped open, blood and bile spilling out. The sword fell through, and with it came a dark lump: Link.

Ganondorf sucked in a breath. Somewhere, people were calling his son’s name, roaring, cheering. Calling for his son who was bloodied but alive.

Link grabbed the skin-flap hanging open, and scrambled to the side of Demise’s neck, using the sword to latch on and form a handhold. Demise clawed at its neck with too-long arms, and snatched Link in one acid-spattered hand.

 _Poor little child,_ it crooned. _You’ve never held a sword. You never fought a war. The only battle you fought ripped you apart._

Ganondorf’s head snapped up. Zelda took a step back.

 _Pathetic,_ the voice murmured. It echoed from everywhere at once, high like a giggling child, deep like an avalanche.

Link struggled against the abomination’s grip, and Ganondorf could imagine the vise-like pressure around his rib cage, the slow crush of bones about to crack.

_Why don’t you hide under the dirt, like you did in the desert? Let the real warriors sacrifice themselves for you again. At least then you’ll live._

Hot rage spiked in Ganondorf’s throat. Link bore scars from the Belgorath all over his body. His courage was evident to everyone. How _dare_ Demise imply otherwise?

 _Or perhaps it’s better you die here,_ Demise said. _Then your father won’t have to pretend to love you anymore._

Ganondorf wanted nothing more than to run his sword through Demise’s skull himself. If only he could see Link’s face—if only Link could see _him_ —so he could know whether Link was affected.

_But he’s not your father, is he? He’s the monster that tried to kill your friends. And you, like an idiot, pretended you didn’t know._

Demise squeezed Link in one massive hand, laughed to itself, and hurled him through the air.

“No!” Ganondorf shouted. Not again, Link had almost died before, and this time Mipha was occupied by Yiga—

Link tumbled down, only the glint of his sword visible, and a violet blur caught him before he hit the ground, slowing so as to not break his spine. Revali.

The Rito landed on a roof so Link could climb back on. Then they were airborne, dodging Demise’s claws, bursts of acid, and fire from other soldiers aiming up at the demon. With Link’s grip and Revali’s agility, they dropped him onto Demise once more. He stabbed deep into Demise’s neck and collarbones, jumped off before the titan could grab him, and let Revali catch him like an acrobat.

“It’s working,” Zelda whispered, huge smile breaking onto her face. “He’s getting _hits.”_

Ganondorf slumped, as if he’d aged ten years in the past minute. Perhaps the blasted Rito was good for _one_ thing.

Another Rito flew to them, and presented Zelda with her bow and quiver. “Your Mercy.”

Zelda winced at the sight of her weapon, swallowed, and clutched both items to her chest.

“Thank you, officer.”

The Rito saluted, and went to join the others dive-bombing Yiga in the courtyard. Zelda’s gaze dropped to the terrace stones, lips pressed tight together. Urbosa left Ganondorf in the hands of two other guards, and wrapped an arm around Zelda’s shoulders.

“My dear,” she said, “I realize you are not of age, but—”

“But if there were ever a time,” Zelda said, “it’s now. I know.”

She closed her eyes and gulped.

“Hylia,” she whispered, “if you’re watching, please, please...”

Urbosa’s face softened. For a moment, she looked more like a mother than a warrior.

“Oh, my _vehvi_ ,” she said. “Come here.”

She wrapped Zelda in a tight embrace. Zelda startled, then hugged her back just as hard.

“We all believe in you,” Urbosa said. “And we are all so, so proud.”

“But the power,” Zelda said, voice thick. “If I can’t summon it—”

“Then you will protect us with your intelligence, your courage, and your love.” Urbosa tilted Zelda’s head up. “The people didn’t cheer for you on Resurgence Day because of magic or bloodline. They cheered because they know you will give everything to protect them. _That_ is what makes you a worthy queen.”

Zelda looked away. “I hope so.”

“I _know_ so. And I will fight Demise itself if I must.”

“Alright,” Zelda said, stepping out of the hug. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s my girl.”

Zelda strode to the battlement edge, nocking an arrow and pulling the bowstring back. She aimed it high, eyes zeroing in on the enormous monstrosity before her.

“For Hyrule,” she whispered, and let the arrow fly.

It sailed through the air, looking like any other arrow, and landed on Demise’s thigh. Then it melted into the acid, leaving not even a trace.

_Pathetic. Did you think your little twigs could make any difference?_

The voice came again, booming above and around them.

_You can’t even fight a battle without needing your mortal enemy for help. How do you expect to rule a country?_

Zelda froze. Her face drained of color, and the knuckles went white on her dark brown hands.

_Your father would be ashamed._

Urbosa lay a hand on Zelda's back.

“Demise lies,” she said. “It knows you’re a threat, so it’s trying to stop you.”

 _Your mother is ashamed,_ Demise echoed. _And would only be more-so to hear of your “proclivity.”_

“No,” Zelda whispered, blinking rapidly.

“You must _not_ listen,” Urbosa pressed.

_How disappointing, to hear her daughter, the only person standing between Hyrule and a succession crisis, wants to marry a Zora!_

“No!” Zelda dropped the bow, and looked around, as if fearing that her mother had overheard already.

_Your people will see what you truly are soon enough. And the throne of Hyrule will pass to Calatia because of your failure._

“Demise is trying to discourage you from shooting,” Ganondorf said. “That means you should keep doing it.”

Urbosa raised an eyebrow. “For once, I agree.”

Zelda drew a shaky breath.

“Alright,” she said, and nocked another arrow.

In the courtyard, the fighting continued to rage. Sidon used his tremendous height and long head-tail to slam multiple Yiga into the wall at once. He grabbed two more in his claws and crushed their heads together, with little more than a wince at their acid-poisoned blades against his skin. Mipha ran back and forth, flinging bursts of light from her hands in the most powerful healing magic Ganondorf had ever seen. She could even reverse the acid’s effects when it was halfway up a soldier’s arm, leaving it whole and healthy.

 _Princess Zelda,_ the abomination whispered, though its voice still boomed. _You are so afraid of disappointing your mother. To know that the last royal daughter of Hyrule would let the lineage die...It would horrify her._

“Shut up,” Zelda said. “Just shut up.”

_But do not worry. I can help you._

“I said shut up!” she shouted.

_I will give you one less thing to worry about._

Her breath left her, and the bow trembled in her grip.

Demise dipped its enormous head toward the courtyard, maw opening wide, and everyone scrambled to get out of the range of fire. Those who could run, ran. But some couldn’t, either because they had been wounded, or like the healers, they were carrying the wounded to safety.

Healers. Mipha.

Sidon’s side had split open from Yiga blades, and Mipha was hugging him to heal the gash as fast as possible.

A cloud of black fire erupted from Demise’s mouth.

“No!” Zelda screamed.

The flame burst out, drenching the air in the putrid stench of rot, and slammed into the Zora and everyone around them. It rippled, it roared, and even from where he stood Ganondorf felt himself choking. After seconds that dragged like hours, the fire faded away.

Where once there had been two Zora, there was only a long, dark smear across the stones.


	22. Viper

“ _Mipha!”_

Zelda ran to the battlement edge. Only Urbosa’s grip kept her from losing her balance completely.

“Sidon!” Zelda’s voice was a broken scream. “Mipha!”

With the Zora team slaughtered, Yiga poured in through the gate. The surviving soldiers countered with crossbow bolts, daruk blasts, and bombs, but their volleys barely slowed the Yiga down. The battle turned into an all-out brawl below the terrace, with just the last line of defense around Zelda holding steady.

A wave of sound and wind slammed everyone to the ground, and a blast erupted from Demise’s mouth that turned the sky flame-white. It bellowed a snarl of acid and plasma hundreds of feet through the air, and whipped the torrent back, forth, through the air and into the ground, vaporizing everything in its path. The Rito bombers dissolved into dust, and the city erupted into fire and rubble.

Ganondorf squinted into the glow, searching for Link and Revali. The hellish ray silhouetted them, two tiny figures against its glare. They zigzagged north, east, up, backwards, barrel rolls—dozens of maneuvers Ganondorf didn’t know a bird could make—dodging the beam’s reach. Soon, they were the last ones left in the air. The rest of the Rito were dead, the ground-forces scattered and fleeing from the beam and Demise’s acid-spewing fragments.

“We’re losing,” Zelda whispered. “It’s Link, it all comes down to Link again...”

“No.” Urbosa pressed the bow into her hands. “It depends on all of us. Including you.”

Zelda blinked at it, numbly, and it trembled in her grip.

A long whistle pierced the air. Urbosa glanced up, grabbed Zelda’s shoulders, and shoved her to the opposite side of the terrace before a bomb struck the stones at Urbosa’s side. The battlement exploded in a mess of light and shrapnel.

“General!” one of the soldiers shouted. “Are you alright?”

“I’m here!”

She coughed, and when the smoke cleared her face and armor were blackened. She slumped against the wall with blood pooling beneath her.

“Auntie Ur—” Zelda said, and choked on dust. “General, I thought the Rito were—”

Another bomb dropped into the courtyard, blasting Sheikah across the cobblestones. Dark blurs flitted overhead, swooping like Rito but without the colors of the Hyrulean army.

“Yiga,” Ganondorf said. “Rito Yiga.”

Zelda jerked up. “You snake in the...”

“I _never_ worked with them,” he said. “You need cover. This spot is too open.”

“He’s right,” Urbosa rasped. “But the closest—”

She tried to stand, but fell to her knees, hand flying to a red stain on her hip.

Zelda ran to her side. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“You’re not safe here.”

“Nowhere is safe!” Zelda said. “There _is_ no cover that’s not—”

The white-hot plasma beam burst forth again, and the Yiga Rito darted to the far side of the courtyard. It blasted on and off in every direction, seemingly random—but no. Not random. Demise was tracking Revali and Link. The last Rito in the army soared and dove, zipping through the air like a gnat, Link clinging round his neck. Every time the beam missed, it wrought more fires upon the city, collapsing neighborhoods further and further out.

“He’s got this,” Zelda said. “Revali’s the best flier in Tabantha, he’s got this, he’s got—”

All four of Demise’s massive hands swung round to swat him. Only the merest gap between them remained, and Revali dodged through it easily.

Only to collide with the deathly ray.

The silhouettes vanished into the light, and Ganondorf stopped breathing. There was no scream, no pause in the fighting around them, nothing but Zelda and Urbosa’s frozen forms in front of him to recognize what happened.

“No,” he whispered. “Link couldn’t...”

The ray flickered off, throwing the sky back into darkness, and only the pinprick of light from the Master Sword remained visible, hurtling toward the earth. Another dark blur shot up from the ground, probably another Yiga Rito, toward that flickering speck.

“Zelda,” Urbosa hissed, voice faint between heavy breaths. “You must _keep shooting.”_

“But Urbosa, I—”

Urbosa’s eyes slipped shut, and Zelda dropped to her knees. The soldiers crowded around their fallen general.

“Urbosa!” She shook the general’s shoulders. “Urbosa! _Vami Urbuz,_ please wake up!”

Ganondorf couldn’t watch anymore. While the Hyruleans were distracted, he ran from the terrace and down the stairs to the courtyard, evading Yiga, Sheikah, soldiers along the way.

Link couldn’t die. Not now, not like this, not because an overgrown cucco had flown wrong. Not vaporized helplessly in the sky. The magmasuit would have protected him. It had to. It _must._ The possibility that the Master Sword’s light had been just that—only the Master Sword—was unthinkable.

A venom-sickle blocked his path, and he stopped in time to see the Yiga leader holding it.

“Nice try,” they said. “But the it’s the end of—”

“You idiot, _I’m_ Ganon! Now get out of my way!”

The Yiga leader laughed. “You think we follow Ganon?”

Ganondorf stepped back, blood curdling in his gut. “I _made_ you, three hundred years ago!”

“Times change,” the Yiga snarled. “You gave us nothing, so we went with a master who _did.”_

They slashed at him, and he barely escaped with his coat torn. He stumbled backwards and fled, past the keep, past more soldiers and invaders, past rotting figures that used to be people, past bombs dropping from the sky. The hole in his chest pulled at him worse than ever, and his old body ached to its bones. Even if he had his swords, he hadn’t the strength or reflexes to use them anymore.

But there was one thing he could use, even like this. And if he was lucky, he might be able to help Link.

At the far edge of the courtyard, the Temple of Time’s roof had caved in, one wall was entirely gone, and their pieces were scattered about the ground. No one was fighting out here. The Yiga must have been targeting Zelda, and the nobles huddled inside the keep.

Ganondorf put his head to the door, and heard no one inside. He glanced toward the terrace, where Zelda was shakily loosing arrows while Ezlo squad shot crossbow bolts at the Yiga Rito trying to hit her. He couldn’t see the demon anymore, not with the keep in the way. The fight was now between Zelda and Demise.

For the first time in his life, Ganondorf prayed that Zelda would win.

He heaved the doors open, sending another jolt of pain through his chest, and entered the Temple of Time. Shards of stained glass and broken bricks covered the floor. The inky void of the sky bore down where the roof used to be. He picked his way through the wreckage, and grabbed the daruk from against the wall. He hefted its weight in his arms, gripping it as the soldiers did, and his mouth pressed into a thin line.

He’d run to where he’d last seen the Master Sword falling. If Link lived, Ganondorf would grab him, and get him out of here by whatever means necessary. If not...he would go down with the Hyruleans.

He exited the temple, and surveyed the courtyard. The fighting continued, but a cloaked figure stood in its midst, conspicuous in its stillness. It strode smoothly toward Ganondorf as if there weren’t hundreds of people stabbing, screaming, dying around them. It didn’t look like the naked, stumbling fragments, but Ganondorf tightened his grip on the daruk all the same.

The figure walked till it reached the base of the temple steps, then stopped. It held up its hands to show it was unarmed.

“Don’t worry,” it said. “I’m not here to fight you.”

It was a voice that Ganondorf had only heard once, but could never forget. A voice that only existed in his nightmares. The figure lifted a hand, and pulled down its hood to reveal its face.

Link’s face. Hair brown, eyes blue. A soft smile playing on his lips.

“It’s been so long since I had a corporeal form,” he said. “Thank you for your assistance.”

Ganondorf was frozen where he stood, stomach like a block of ice. When he spoke, his voice trembled.

“What did you do to my son?”

Link, or the thing wearing his body, smiled and spread his hands.

“It helped that you never taught him to fight properly. That made this so much easier for me.” It chuckled. “A pity you couldn’t get me the Triforce, but this will serve as well.”

Demise. The demon had traded him magic for souls, pushed for one war after another, while collecting corpses through which to manifest itself into the world.

The daruk felt slick with the cold sweat of Ganondorf’s hands.

“Get out of my son’s body.”

“You should be thanking me,” Demise said. “The boy would have killed you if I wasn’t here.”

“That boy is my _son_ ,” Ganondorf said.

Demise threw back Link’s head and laughed, light and free.

“He’s no more your son than I am,” he said. “And now, he knows the truth. When this battle ends, he’ll come for you. You were a fool to think he would ever love you back.”

He spoke lightly, as if describing a rare species of bird, and Ganondorf heard nothing else but a ringing in his ears. Across the courtyard, the combat moved in slow-motion, and Zelda shot another useless arrow into the sky. A lake of blood had formed where the ground dipped, rivulets twining between the stones, smears of red where Link’s boots had stepped.

“But I can help you,” Demise said.

Ganondorf jerked back to Link’s face, daruk nearly falling from his hands.

Demise smiled, one finger at each corner of Link’s mouth. “You won’t have to see the hatred in your son’s eyes or feel the blood draining from your body after he disembowels you. You’ll be a family again.”

Link’s face shifted, turning hair red and eyes amber, open and guileless as he’d been this morning. It sent a fresh stab through Ganondorf’s heart, and guilt made his stomach churn.

“I’ll erase his memories of today,” Demise said. “He’ll have no idea that today happened, and you could take him home to the desert. You won’t ever have to worry about _this_ again.” He smirked. “I’ll even get rid of the bounty hunters that would come after you.”

The churning in Ganondorf’s stomach grew worse with every word.

“You can wipe people’s memories?”

“Of course. I altered yours.”

Ganondorf reeled, images of Varuq, his people, the bloody sands flashing through his mind.

“I’ll make it easy for you,” Demise said. “All you have to do is step aside, and in thirty seconds, you and your son will be home, safe and sound.”

Step aside—and let Demise enter the Temple of Time.

Ganondorf tightened his grip on the daruk. “The Triforce isn’t here.”

Demise raised Link’s chin. “Then there shouldn’t be a problem with moving aside.”

Ganondorf’s fingers clenched white around the firearm. He pointed the shaking barrel at Link’s heart, finger cold against the trigger.

Demise smiled.

“That’s cute. You don’t even know how to load it.”

The shaking grew worse. “Try me.”

Link’s body stepped forward, more a slither than a walk, eyes never wavering from Ganondorf’s, venomous grin never leaving his mouth.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, mocking Ganondorf’s earlier words. “You can run. You can have him back. I’ll even make him a real Gerudo, if you like.”

“You can’t,” Ganondorf said. “The Triforce will only grant one wish—”

“For a mortal,” Demise said. He climbed the steps, one by one, and this must have been what a mouse felt, watching the rattlesnake shake its tail. “I could grant you everything. Your son, your freedom, I could even resurrect Varuq. Imagine the three of you, a happy family in the desert.”

Fort Ular, freshly painted and rebuilt. Varuq recalling her hawk in the evening light, jackrabbit in its claws. Link exploring, building, reading whatever he liked, a normal teenager without destiny tightening like a noose round his neck. Not merely existing, like Ganondorf had done for nine hundred years, but living.

All he had to do was give the Triforce to a demon.

In the end, Ganondorf lowered the daruk, and stepped away from the doors.

Demise smirked. “Good boy.”

He sauntered forward, hands swinging childishly at his side. He practically skipped past Ganondorf, and stopped in front of the doors. Link’s eyes gleamed, ravenous and euphoric like the real Link never was, and his fingers curled around the handle.

Ganondorf slammed the butt of the daruk into his skull.

The impact released a sickening crunch, and Link’s body crumpled to the ground.

“Forgive me,” Ganondorf whispered, the bloodied firearm wavering in his grip. “Forgive me, Link.”

Link wouldn’t _want_ normal. He never stood by while others suffered, not in this lifetime or any other. If Ganondorf took that away, Link would never forgive him, nor would he forgive himself.

Or so Ganondorf told himself as the blood pooled around Link’s head, and his eyelids fluttered shut.

“Forgive me,” Ganondorf said, and tore his eyes away from the sight that would haunt his dreams.

The Triforce. Demise was after the Triforce. It wasn’t here, or at least it shouldn’t be, but if Ganondorf stayed by Link’s body any longer he’d aim the daruk at himself. He dropped it, dragged the door open, and numbly made his way through the rubble.

At the far back, behind the Master Sword’s plinth, the door to the sanctuary was glowing. Ganondorf stopped before it, hand outstretched, trembling. The Triforce shouldn’t be here, not with Zelda across the castle, not with Link...dealt with. The pieces had to be united.

He threw open the door, and the Sun itself could have appeared, so bright and warm was the light that exploded through the temple. Ganondorf threw his hand over his eyes, and through his fingers and squinting eyes, he could barely make out the Triforce on its altar.

Realization hit him like a hammer. Three pieces, united, as in _working together_. For the first time, he, Link and Zelda were on the same side. Or had been.

He walked towards it, slowly, as if the golden emblem would vanish at any moment. But the light grew brighter and brighter. A thousand years of war, and lies, and bitterness all melted away. The Triforce felt cold and electric in his hands, and time stopped around him.

Here it was. The ultimate power, the power to compel even the gods themselves, the power he’d spent a thousand years chasing. One wish. A wish for whatever he desired. It felt almost unbelievable, after so long.

He could have Hyrule. He could destroy Hyrule, if he chose. He could make himself immortal, or as powerful as a god. He could snap his fingers and undo the last thousand years, pretend all of it had never happened.

He could change his identity and start a new life, with Link as his son by birth, and no one would be the wiser.

Ganondorf looked out through the hole in the temple wall, toward the wreckage of the capital. Columns of smoke rose from neighborhoods engulfed in fire, up into the unnaturally black sky. Past the shouts and crashes of the battle itself, he heard screams, wails, the blares of first-responders’ horns. The metallic scent of blood choked the air, and the earth itself was trembling.

As his mind flashed with images of a ruined city, streets drenched in blood and bodies charred to cinders, the wish came to his lips.

“Bring them back.”

The Triforce went hot, hotter, sparking until he couldn’t look at it anymore.

“Bring everyone back,” he said. “Nayru, Farore, Din—Hylia, damn it—if you’re listening at all— _bring them back.”_

Hotter, brighter, it burned through his skin like a blacksmith’s poker branding his flesh—and then it vanished. His hand waved listlessly in empty air, Triforce mark gone. The light in the temple snuffed out, leaving only the flickers of wall-sconces.

Behind him, there came a wet, hacking cough.

Link’s body was listing against the door, blood dripping down his face, yellow eyes wide and hateful.

“Ganondorf,” he rasped, “I will strangle you with your own son’s hands!”

He lunged. Ganondorf stumbled backward, scarcely evading his reach. He dodged to the side—no weapons, nothing in this room to defend with—and Demise sprinted forward and grabbed at him again. He latched on to Ganondorf’s wrist, and threw him to the ground.

Ganondorf rolled onto his back, and made to jump up when Demise body-slammed him down, and smashed his head against the floor. The demon squeezed Link’s hands around Ganondorf’s neck, knee digging into the Master Sword’s wound.

“Wasted!” Demise snarled. “A thousand years, wasted! I will devour you as I did your son, as I ate your bitch of a wife!”

His fingers crushed tighter round Ganondorf’s throat, nails biting against his skin. Ganondorf scrambled against his hold, desperation fueling him, but it was nothing against Link’s and the demon’s strength. His vision was turning black.

Then Zelda’s voice rang out, hoarse with rage and grief.

“For Mipha!”

A thunderbolt of gold shot up through the sky, and tore through Demise’s titan-form like a cannonball through paper. The behemoth screeched and flailed, wounds from the Master Sword ripping wide open. In the temple, Link’s body jerked backward with a screech. He stumbled, spasming like a seizure, and collapsed to the ground.

Ganondorf scrambled to his knees, panting, world spinning around him. His boy was shaking, crying, bleeding in front of him, and every whimper ripped another hole in his heart. Despite his pounding head, despite the creature wielding Link’s body, Ganondorf crawled over and cradled him in his arms.

“Link,” he breathed. “Link, it’s alright, I’m here and you’ll be alright.”

Link shivered, eyes shut tight, arms trembling at his sides.

“For Urbosa!” Zelda shouted. “For Sidon!”

She kept firing, hands steady as the earth itself. No, steadier. She needed no quiver: each holy missile materialized in her fingers as she drew the bow, light sparking and building, and firing off towards Demise with a boom like cannons. Where the Master Sword had cut, the arrows vaporized, enormous chunks dissolving into nothingness.

Link’s body was fading with them.

“No,” Ganondorf said. “No, stay with me, that demon won’t take you from me—”

The last fragment of Demise disappeared, and where Link had been, there was only dust. Ganondorf stared at his empty hands, his damnable, useless hands.

There were footsteps running toward him.

His war was never supposed to end like this. Not with the closest person he had to family dead in his arms. Not with his ambition, his cruel and idiotic ambition, destroying the very cause he fought for. Not with failure as a warrior, as a Gerudo, and as a father.

Strong arms pinned him to the ground, and he heard Urbosa’s caustic voice.

“You’ve caused enough trouble for one day.”

He fell limp, half from exhaustion and half from shock. How could she fight after a bomb exploded at her side?

“General!” a soldier yelled from nearby. “General, look up!”

“Busy!” she snapped.

“General, please, this needs your attention!”

Gasps broke out around him, and her steel hold on his shoulders loosened ever so slightly. He managed to turn his head, and through the hole in the roof, he saw what the soldiers were staring at.

The stars were falling from the sky.


	23. Judge

Urbosa hauled him to his feet and set two guards to grab his arms. She led them from the temple, into the rubble of the courtyard. The sky had lightened to twilight grey, and every second more stars streaked toward earth, like the Goron-powder lights from the festival. Half the soldiers were paralyzed staring up at it, while the rest stumbled about in bewilderment. The corpses had vanished, leaving streaks of blood, dirt and dust. The surviving Yiga were tied up by the Zora pond.

“Your Mercy!” Urbosa shouted toward the keep. “The sorcerer is caught!”

The Queen Regent ran out, hair loose and wild, chest heaving in fright.

“Urbosa!” she shouted. “How are you alive? Where’s Zelda?”

“We have the traitor—”

“Is he actively threatening anyone?”

“No, but—”

“Then it can wait.” The Regent didn’t even look at him, eyes searching the courtyard. “My girl, where is my girl?”

“Mom!”

She jerked toward the command terrace, where one wall had collapsed and the steps were strewn with debris. At its top, Zelda was picking her way over the bricks and stones, trousers torn, blood and dirt all over her clothing.

“Mom, are you alright?”

The Regent ran to meet her daughter at the base of the stairs, and stopped at the uneven path. She swore in the Gerudo language, then began clambering up the rocks herself.

“ _Arqun!”_ Urbosa said. “You know you shouldn’t—”

“Mom, your heart—”

“Forget that! Zelda, are _you_ alright? Is that your blood?”

They met on a boulder that used to be part of a battlement, and the Regent—Arcona—wrapped her daughter in a tight hug.

“My _vehvi_ , my love,” she said. “I was so worried, you don’t know how much I worried.”

Zelda lay her cheek on her mother’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, _vaama_.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry.” She stroked her fingers through Zelda’s ringlets. “My brave, brilliant girl. I didn’t—I never meant to make you feel unworthy.”

Zelda shook her head, her response too quiet to hear.

“I’m so sorry,” Arcona said. “All this time, I focused on ruling, and you were so good, so smart and responsible, I thought you were doing well.” Her voice choked on a sob. “I should have paid more attention. You shouldn’t have had to hide.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Mipha.” Zelda gulped. “The succession...”

“Damn the succession. We will change the laws, and you will marry whoever you want.”

“But Calatia—”

“Calatia will have to _get over it.”_

Zelda hugged her mother tighter and closed her eyes. They sat amid the wreckage, one in a royal gown and the other in bloody leathers, both now covered in dirt and dust. The sight sent a bitter pang through Ganondorf’s gut. Why did they get to hold each other, warm and alive, while he and Link could not?

At last, Arcona released her daughter. Zelda found her footing, and pulled her mother up. As they picked their way down, Arcona leaned heavily on her daughter’s arm. Zelda’s gaze darted between her mother and the stones.

“We could have cleared it for you in a few minutes,” Urbosa said, helping her sister to the ground.

Arcona shook her head. She raised a hand for peace, and leaned against the wall to cough, hand pressed to her chest. Ganondorf furrowed his brow. Apparently, the woman of steel was more fragile than she let the public see.

Perhaps she wasn’t so different from him after all.

Arcona straightened, closed her eyes, and took a long breath. She opened them, and looked down on Ganondorf with the gaze of the Queen Regent once more. Urbosa shoved him to a kneeling position, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Your _Mercy_ ,” Ganondorf said, irony coating the word. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You have conspired against the crown and people of Hyrule,” she said. “I ought to behead you on the spot. But in the interest of compassion, I will permit you one chance to speak your defense.”

He gave her a dry smile. Some mercy. If the Triforce couldn’t save his son, what could she do?

“Thank you,” he said, “but there’s little point to it now.”

She arched an eyebrow. He looked toward the temple, but Urbosa shook him to turn forward again.

A whooshing noise came through the air. The soldiers jerked up, covering their heads at the sight of a dark blur in the sky.

“Blast it all,” Urbosa said. “Ezlo squad, ready the bows—”

“No!” Zelda raised a hand. “That’s not a Yiga!”

The guards muttered, gasped, and rolled out of the way before a winged bokoblin landed in their midst.

Fork flapped, shaking off drops of sweat and demon-blood like a dog after a bath. Her mouse-glamour must have vanished in the same way his and Link’s had. She folded her wings, revealing a black-suited rider, and Ganondorf stopped breathing.

The rider leapt down. More demon-blood covered the magmasuit, from the visor to his boots, and he smelled like rotting flesh. The Master Sword was sheathed on his back, hilt stained black. But when he took the helmet off, his brown skin was clear and unhurt.

Ganondorf, Zelda and the guards all shouted at once.

“ _Link!”_

Ganondorf reeled, edges of his vision blurring, and his knees buckled beneath him. His son was alive, and moving. He hadn’t been torn to pieces or dissolved in dust or crushed to a pulp. Link was alive and he had won.

Link gave a small wave, and dropped his helmet to the ground. The soldiers further back erupted into excited murmurs. But no one dared approach, not with the bokoblin at his side, who looked like their enemy but made no move to attack.

Whenever Ganondorf blinked, that terrible image of Link’s fading body appeared before him. The Link he’d held in the temple had no magmasuit. He didn’t have the sword. His clothes weren’t covered in demon-blood, and when he walked across the courtyard, no one else seemed to notice him.

Ganondorf let out a heavy breath, throat aching where the false-Link’s fingers had tried to strangle him. Of course it was a phantasm, like the one Demise had conjured in the castle a few weeks before. Of course the phantasm dissolved when Demise did: it was _part_ of Demise. Perhaps even another boy’s corpse that Demise had twisted to look like Link. That wouldn’t erase the image of Link’s corpse from his mind, but at least he hadn’t beaten his own son.

Or the boy he thought of as a son. Link probably saw the matter differently now.

Link made a noise of surprise, and the Regent was speaking.

“My daughter was right about you,” she said. “As she is about most things.”

Beside her, Zelda flushed and said nothing, but smiled.

“Zelda,” Link signed. “You said people shouldn’t be judged by their appearances.”

She startled, and glanced at the bokoblin. “Yes?”

“This is Fork.” Link patted her on the arm. “She killed Demise as much as you or I did.”

“ _Fork?”_ Zelda repeated aloud.

“If you could avoid siccing your guards on me,” Fork signed, “that’d be great.”

Zelda’s eyes widened, and she rocked on her feet.

“Right,” she mumbled. “Um. Will do.”

She looked towards Urbosa, and said aloud, “The winged one is named Fork, and she’s a friend.”

Urbosa nodded. The other soldiers murmured among themselves.

“How come it— _she_ didn’t dissolve?” one of them asked.

“Funny thing about being a creature of darkness,” Fork signed. “Throwing more darkness at me doesn’t do anything.”

Zelda looked intrigued, and ready to ask another question, but the Queen Regent spoke first.

“Welcome back, Varuqin,” she said, not batting an eye at the bokoblin. “As you see, we’ve captured the one responsible for this catastrophe.”

Link’s gaze turned to her, then to Ganondorf. His face was back in that terrible blankness, made all the worse by his dark hair and blue eyes. It was as if all traces of their connection had been washed away, if it had ever been there at all. He walked over, and kneeled so he was closer to Ganondorf’s level. His hand movements were stiff and half-muffled by the magmasuit.

“Are you injured?”

Ganondorf blinked. He’d expected a question like “Who are my real parents?” or “Would you rather I stab you in the front or the back?”

Link raised his eyebrows, insisting on an answer.

“The only thing bruised is my pride,” Ganondorf said aloud.

“Any other _kinds_ of injuries?”

“I’m as well as anyone could be after confronting the embodiment of evil. Are _you_ unhurt?”

The Regent spoke over Link’s response. “Varuqin, do not waste your time on him. He will be executed for crimes against Hyrule and our people shortly.”

Link’s blank face shifted into a frown. He rose.

“If you execute him,” he signed, “then you better kill me, too.”

Ganondorf froze, all thoughts gone from his head. Zelda’s face turned ashen, before she translated aloud, and the courtyard erupted into gasps and murmurs.

The Regent held up a hand, silencing the crowd. She studied Link with dark, narrowed eyes.

“Explain yourself,” she said.

“I knew my father was an enemy of your government.”

Ganondorf’s jaw dropped. Zelda translated again, horror quivering in her voice. More mutters broke out around them, and Urbosa gripped Ganondorf’s arms all the harder.

“I could have turned him in after the first attack,” Link signed, “and saved us this trouble. But I couldn’t bear to think that way, so I averted my eyes and convinced myself he was innocent.”

The Belgorath. After all Ganondorf’s efforts to disguise his plans, after all his excuses, Link had still figured it out. Clever, his son had always been too clever, too good at putting things together, too good at keeping his thoughts to himself. He’d known, and chosen to pretend he didn’t.

“You knew?” the Regent said. “He burned you near to death!”

Link swallowed. He drew his shoulders back, and let out a deep breath.

“I wanted to believe in him.”

Ganondorf’s heart tore, and images of the hospital ward flashed in his mind, memories of scars and antiseptic and Link struggling to sit up. No wonder they had drifted apart over the past few weeks. The suspicion must have gnawed at him, and even then, he shoved it aside and tried to reconcile.

Ganondorf swallowed. He didn’t deserve this boy.

The Regent shook her head, face drawn tight in sorrow.

“Such a noble faith,” she said. “I am sorry it was unjustified. For your sake, we will make his execution quick and painless.”

Link stepped backward and lay a hand on Ganondorf’s shoulder, keeping eye contact with the Regent the whole time.

A small frown appeared on her face. “Step aside.”

Link didn’t move.

“Link, please,” Zelda said. “Don’t do this.”

“I said,” he signed, hands punctuating each motion, “if he dies, you’ll have to take me with him.”

Zelda gulped, spoke it aloud for the others, and the whole courtyard fell into silence. Link and the Regent stared each other down, a stalemate between the coldly regal and the incorrigibly stubborn.

“Link,” Ganondorf said aloud, and all eyes snapped to him. “If you have to risk your life, do it while saving the world. Not by telling a pointless lie.”

Link glared. _“I’m_ not the one who’s been lying.”

Ganondorf winced.

“He knew nothing of this,” he said to the Regent. “Ignore his sentimentality. He’s always been too heroic for his own good.”

“That would not surprise me in the least,” she said.

Link made an offended noise.

“Sentiment aside,” she said, raising her voice, “we have the instigator for the attack on our city. He is guilty of treason and mass murder, and will be accordingly—”

“Your Mercies!”

A guard ran into the courtyard, carrying a small Zora in his arms. Her face was tucked against his chest, but there was no mistaking her.

“Mipha!” Zelda shouted, and ran to Mipha’s side.

Ganondorf gaped. Mipha didn’t have so much as a scratch on her. Her eyes drooped with exhaustion, but blinked awake at Zelda’s hand on her arm.

Mipha’s voice was almost too soft to hear. “Zelda?”

“You’re alive! How—” Her eyes raced between Mipha, the guard, and the gate to the city.

“The stars,” the guard said, voice shaking. “They’re not really stars. They’re _people,_ falling from the sky, who were killed here or when the last titan attacked. It’s like the gods are giving them back to us.”

Everyone looked up, to the sky, where streaks of light kept falling, and landing in the distance.

Zelda sucked in a breath. “So is Sidon...?”

“Too big to carry, ma’am.”

“And Revali?”

The guard shuddered. “Cantankerous as ever.”

At Zelda’s urging, he set Mipha down. Zelda sat beside her, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She looked toward her mother, whose features softened into a smile.

Link sent Ganondorf a thoughtful look. “You did something.”

Ganondorf said aloud, “The Triforce.”

Zelda and the Regent’s attention both snapped to him.

“Excuse me?” the Regent said, voice low and dangerous.

“You made a wish,” Link signed.

“You made a...” Zelda started. “No. The Triforce couldn’t have appeared _now,_ of all times.”

Urbosa cleared her throat, looking uncommonly awkward. Her grip on Ganondorf slackened.

“The wound at my side should have been mortal. A golden light healed it. I didn’t make the connection till now, but _he_ was in the temple, with the sanctuary door wide open.”

As she spoke, Zelda’s jaw went slack, and she shook her head in disbelief. The Regent’s frown deepened.

“You cannot be serious,” she said.

Link let out a faint chuckle.

“Well,” he signed, “this puts a damper on the ‘mass murder’ charge, doesn’t it?”

Zelda stared at him. She turned to her mother.

“Does it still count as murder if someone is brought back from the dead?”

The Regent pinched the bridge of her nose, and sighed.

“I will not have sorcerers killing and un-killing people for sport. It counts.”

“But it’s _not_ murder,” Link signed, “if he’s not the one who got them killed. He _wasn’t_ behind the attack today, and he _wasn’t_ working with the Yiga, who were responsible for almost all the deaths during the Belgorath attack. And he resurrected the people who _were_ killed.”

With help from Mipha, Zelda managed to translate that, and Ganondorf could almost hear the Regent grinding her teeth.

“It’s _Ganon,”_ she spat, “the demon-king who’s been trying to destroy our country for centuries, how much evidence do you need?”

Zelda rubbed her arm. “Well...”

“If it happened centuries ago,” Link signed, “do you even have the evidence to link him to it? How good are your records?”

The Regent held up a hand.

“Enough. We have wounded people and damaged infrastructure to attend to. For now, Ganon will be sent to the cells, and guarded at all times. We will discuss his fate tomorrow.”

She turned on her heel and strode back to the keep. Zelda gave Link a smile before she followed, half-carrying Mipha. Urbosa snapped her fingers, and the guards closed in next to Ganondorf, but did not grab his arms this time. Link glanced to her warily, drawing closer to Ganondorf’s side.

“At ease,” Urbosa said. “My sister will keep her word.”

His reply was to turn so that he and Ganondorf were standing side by side, to Ganondorf’s continued surprise.

She raised an eyebrow. “If you want to join him in his cell, I won’t stop you.”

Link shook his head, and mimed two mouths speaking to each other.

“Just to talk?” She tilted her head, then nodded. “Fair enough.”

She led them to the cells in the castle dungeon. They were small, and empty of everything but a cot and chamber-pot, but it was an improvement over being beheaded, so Ganondorf didn’t protest as the bars were shut behind him. At least he would have time to come to terms with everything that had happened.

Link waved to Urbosa and motioned toward the door. She frowned.

Ganondorf translated. “He said you can leave things to him.”

She glanced to Link. “Is that accurate?”

Link nodded. Her eyes narrowed, and for a long minute she did not reply, studying Link and Ganondorf, and the iron bars between them.

“Thank you,” she said at last, “but it is standard procedure for our forces to work in pairs.”

Link shook his head. “I wish to talk with my _father_ in private.”

Ganondorf tensed at the words, and had to gather himself before translating them. Urbosa studied Link for a minute more, eyes hard, and Ganondorf did not miss her fingers coiling around the cell keys in her pocket.

“My second and I shall stand outside. You have ten minutes. If _he_ is gone when I return, I will hold you accountable.”

Link inclined his head in understanding. With her scimitar in hand, and one eye over her shoulder, she glided out of the dungeon and shut the door behind her.

The latch clicked, and then they were alone.

Link stared at the door for several seconds, face smooth as a lake of ice in winter. The torch beside him flickered, casting strange shadows over the room. In the musty air, the silence weighed upon them like a shroud.

Half of Ganondorf wanted to break it. The other half dreaded to do so. He stood in place, muscles tensed, but met Link’s unreadable gaze. Link sighed, and fell against the wall, closing his eyes and dropping to the floor.

Ganondorf couldn’t blame him. This was the longest day—night?—of his life, and the rush of battle was dimming, replaced by a deep, full-body ache. He sat on the cell’s thin cot, slowly, so his knees wouldn’t protest.

On the bright side, Link wasn’t trying to kill him. Although, if he heard what happened in the temple...To hell with it. He hadn’t much longer before his execution. There was no point in secrets now.

“Demise copied your shape.”

Link cracked an eye open. “Hm?”

“Before I made the wish on the Triforce. Demise tricked me into thinking it had possessed you, and tried to take the Triforce for itself.”

Link frowned, and sat up straighter. “You stopped it?”

Ganondorf nodded. “It was...a difficult fight. I beat the impostor with the daruk.”

“You said you weren’t hurt!” The vehemence in Link’s face took Ganondorf aback. “I’ll get the medics—”

“No, _I’m_ fine.” He ignored the throb in his neck. “I meant, I thought I was hurting _you.”_

Link looked him up and down, as if searching for the lie.

“Alright. But I want you to let the guards know immediately if you feel hurt.”

“Listen to me.” He spoke aloud for emphasis. “I’m glad it wasn’t real, but I am sorry for what I _could_ have done to you.”

The frown eased, and Link sat back against the stone.

“But you didn’t.” He sighed again. “Stop kicking yourself.”

With that, he closed his eyes, and Ganondorf was left to stare. It couldn’t be that simple. Link should be furious, horrified, slamming doors and rattling the bars of the cell. He couldn’t forgive Ganondorf so easily. Not when Ganondorf couldn’t even forgive himself.

No, this wasn’t forgiveness. It was exhaustion. After Link rested, the argument would come. But Ganondorf didn’t have much time left to wait.

He cleared his throat. “If there’s anything you want to say, or ask, you should say it now.”

Link pursed his lips, fingers twitching. He glanced toward the dungeon door, then back to Ganondorf.

“It’s strange,” Link signed. “I don’t feel like a legendary hero.”

That was probably for the best. He didn’t need the trauma of previous lives on top of today.

“You’re not much of an evil tyrant, either,” he added.

Ganondorf smiled bitterly. “I would love to say that’s true.”

Link knit his brows, and watched Ganondorf for several long moments, face unreadable again.

“Demise said you backed out. What changed?”

Ganondorf blinked, and for a moment he couldn’t speak. An accusation, a condemnation, an interrogation—Ganondorf was prepared for any of those things. He wasn’t prepared for _this_.

“I found something more important than revenge.”

Link cocked his head, questioning.

“You.”

The surprise in Link’s face sent a fresh pang through Ganondorf’s heart.

“I lied to you too much,” Ganondorf signed. “But this is true: you’re like a son to me, even if I’m not your real father.”

“Bullshit.”

That word hurt more than all the wounds the Master Sword had ever given him, but Link wasn’t done signing.

“My real father is the one who was there for me growing up. Who accepted me as I am. Made sure I felt loved, even when we argued.” Link signed slowly and clearly, as if to a child. “You can’t _fake_ that.”

It took several long seconds for the words to sink in, along with the fact that Link _wasn’t_ denouncing him. Despite the Belgorath and Demise. Despite Ganondorf’s past. Despite destiny itself pushing for them to kill each other.

Ganondorf slumped, scarcely able to believe it.

“You aren’t curious about your birth parents?”

“I remember enough.” Link grunted. “They weren’t nice people.”

“Wait.” Ganondorf held up a hand. “All this time, you knew you were adopted?”

Link stared. “Was I not supposed to know?”

Fires of Din, what was he going to _do_ with this boy?

After almost a thousand years of violent animosity, seventeen years of peace were hardly a drop in that sea of conflict. Link should have been shouting at him, lunging, raging. He shouldn’t be so...calm. Not after having proof of Ganondorf’s true nature thrown in his face.

On the other side of the bars, Link sighed, and slouched against the dungeon wall. His shoulders dropped, and his eyes closed, breathing slowly. Ganondorf looked around for a clock, but found none.

“How long have you been awake?”

Link snorted, and dipped his head to acknowledge the question, but made no reply.

“I’m surprised you aren’t more angry at me,” Ganondorf said.

Link’s smile dropped, and he cracked an eye open. “I _am_ angry. That doesn’t mean I want you dead.”

He pushed himself off the wall, and averted his eyes, one finger held up to indicate he was thinking. After a few moments, he signed again.

“I don’t like that you put so many people in danger. I don’t like that you hid parts of my life from me. But,” he raised his chin, “we _will_ get through this, and we will _still_ be a family.”

Ganondorf’s throat closed up, hands like lead in his lap, and all he could do was blink, as if clearing his vision would replace Link’s words with rejection, loathing, any of the damnable _heroism_ that made them fight to the death a dozen times before.

Link rose to his feet, and brushed the grime from the magmasuit.

“Excuse me. I’m gonna try to argue your case to the Regent.”

Ganondorf gave him a tight smile. “Get some sleep first.”

“No promises. This can’t wait.”

With one last wave good-bye, he turned, and left Ganondorf alone in his cell.

The Hero had no patience for evil. The Hero would kill Ganondorf again, or at least leave him to die.

But Link wouldn’t.

And nobody, not even destiny itself, could make Link do something he didn’t want to do.

Ganondorf’s heart now ached for a different reason, a warm and almost kindly pain, like the hole inside it had finally filled up. The wound wasn’t gone, never would be, but it had scarred over, and its soreness dulled to a low and occasional throb.

He felt around his neck, and winced. No breathing or coordination problems. No concussion symptoms, as far as he could tell. The Triforce mark on his hand had vanished.

It shouldn’t have been surprising. One wish: that was all he got before the gods took their conduit away. Of course they’d also take his key. But if the mark and his magic were gone, then when the Regent executed him, there’d be no second chance.

He fell back against the cot, and grimaced at the thin, hard mattress. He’d spent nearly a thousand years chasing justice—no, revenge—for the wrongs of the past. Wrongs that might have never happened. How many false memories had Demise fed him? How many people had Ganondorf killed for no good reason?

Varuq’s image flashed in his mind, taut and bowed under the weight of her people’s suffering. Had the war been real? Was she real, or another lie?

He held up his hand, dark and unmarked.

Even if his memories were false, his actions were his own. Link had suffered the same way, but he hadn’t gone on a violent crusade. Ganondorf fought to make others suffer as he suffered; Link fought to ensure that no one else suffered as he had.

In the south, the Gerudo homeland bloomed with farms and trade, not famine. The heir to Hyrule carried Gerudo blood. The doors of the Hylian capital were sized to Gerudo bodies, or had been, before Ganondorf and Demise had ruined them.

He’d told himself he was fighting for his people’s memory. But not only had they survived, they were thriving. And while he picked at his wounds, like a dog gnawing at its own stitches, they’d moved on without him.

* * *

“Rise, Ganondorf.”

The old twinge of bile from being commanded by a Hylian, or half-Hylian, flared up in him. Perhaps it was petty of him not to stand for her, or perhaps it was the last remnant of his pride. It certainly wasn’t wisdom that made him want to antagonize her. But in any case, he deigned only to sit up on the cot, and kept his arms crossed in front of him.

“Zelda.”

The princess had changed into new leathers, clean and trim, with bandages on her hands. She stood at parade rest on the other side of the bars, lips set in a firm line, and returned his greeting with a nod.

“For a man who doesn’t speak,” she said, “Link can get awfully loud.”

He couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “He’s been making a nuisance of himself, hasn’t he?”

“Quite.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “But I’m not here to talk about him.”

“Then by all means, proceed.”

She drew a deep breath, and spoke.

“Almost one thousand years ago, you sold your soul to the demon Demise in exchange for power. Since then, you have repeatedly attacked Hyrule and its people, and attempted to cast the world into darkness. Fifteen years ago, you kidnapped the Hero of Courage with intent to turn him against me and my country. Are these not true?”

“I did not kidnap him,” Ganondorf said. “But to the rest, yes.”

“You feel no shame?”

“It won’t help anyone to wallow in self-loathing.”

She tilted her head, brows furrowed, as if he were one of her dragonflies.

“What will you do instead?”

He scowled. “It makes no difference now. You have won, princess. Put down this pretense of concern, it doesn’t suit you.”

Her lip wrinkled, and her hands curled into fists.

“You are fortunate,” she said, “that Link is defending you to the court.”

Ganondorf smiled bitterly. “I would be more fortunate to see it with my own eyes.”

“That would prove difficult.” She frowned down at her tightened knuckles. “You are too dangerous to let free.”

“Naturally.”

“ _Would_ you threaten us again, if you were released?”

“Don’t waste my time with hypotheticals.”

She leveled a glare that could cut through iron.

“For once in your over-long life,” she said, “stop making things harder for yourself than they need to be. Would you threaten my country again if you were free?”

“No, princess.” He rolled his eyes. “Apart from the fact that I used up my one chance to get the Triforce, Link would never give me a moment’s peace.”

“You wouldn’t try to take it for power’s sake?”

“I’ve taken your country many times. It’s become dull.”

She sighed and rubbed her forehead.

“I’m given to understand that you no longer have any powers from Demise, and your Triforce mark has disappeared.”

Her own mark was dulled, but intact. Did that mean Link kept his? And if so, _why?_

“You are stating the obvious, Princess. Your point?”

“You are mortal.”

There it was. If she could confirm he was powerless, then the royal family could execute him freely, assured that he would stay dead. But if there was doubt, it would be wiser to keep him locked up here, where he could be watched over and left to rot.

“You will die,” she said, “as all men must die. And like all who die without special favor from the gods, you will stay dead.”

“Again, I ask, your point?”

She swallowed, and blinked a few times. When she spoke, her voice was taut.

“Link will be born again without you. And when he is, he will forget.”

The words stabbed at him like a sword through his heart.

“Knowing this,” she said, “knowing you will lose him through death, and he will lose you through forgetting...Do you want to take over Hyrule again?”

“For Din’s sake, woman, what difference would it make? It won’t grant me any more years with him.”

“Is that a no?”

“Given only a few decades of life, why would I waste them on a pointless war? I just want to see my boy grow up happy.”

“You’re absolutely certain—”

“It’s a _no,_ Princess. An absolute no, I will never do that again.”

“ _Good!”_

She let out a whoop, strode to the doorway, and slammed it open.

“See! I _told_ you, _vaama_. We’re suspending the execution.”

...What?

He couldn’t see the Regent from where he sat, but her sigh was unmistakable.

“ _Vehvi_ , you don’t believe—”

“We had an agreement,” Zelda said. “If he renounced his ways, and Link and I both vouched for him, he’d be allowed to live.”

Ganondorf stared at her back. The princess of Hyrule, mortal incarnation of Hylia, and his thousand-year enemy wanted him alive? It had been bizarre enough to see it from Link.

“So be it,” said the Regent. “But he will be guarded at all times—”

“Yes, constant watch, daily reports, lifetime of community service,” Zelda said. “I’ll tell him. Thank you, _vaama_. Please inform the rest of the court.”

“Zelda, Zelda...” The Regent’s voice grew fainter with her footsteps.

Zelda strode back to Ganondorf with a smile on her face and her head held high.

“So,” she said.

Ganondorf sputtered. “You’re letting me off with _community service?”_

“A lifetime of it, yes.” She crossed her arms, unbearably smug. “There are roads that need clearing, wells that need digging, farms that need to be rebuilt since the last time Lake Hylia flooded. Oh, and most of the capital city has been _smashed to pieces._ If only I had an extra legion of workers who could help me repair it.” She tilted her head. “I don’t, but _you_ do.”

“What legion? Your soldiers wiped them out.”

“They returned with the stars.” She coolly examined her nails. “It’s a good thing Link and Fork were there to stop another fight from breaking out.”

Arrow. Sunshroom. Everyone Link had been grieving, they were _alive._ And not just alive, but the Hyruleans weren’t trying to murder them again.

He shook his head in amazement. “You want the forces of darkness to build houses.”

“You are stating the obvious, Ganondorf.”

Ganondorf stared at her. She smirked.

“It’s a great deal,” she said. “You get to keep your life, and to live at home, see Link, and travel the country. You’ll even get a personal guard to stop people from assassinating you, and a probation officer who will check on you once a day.”

There was no sign of mockery in Zelda’s face, no cruel joke waiting to pop.

“I thought you, of all people,” he said, “would want me gone for good.”

She huffed, and rubbed her arms.

“I was on the fence,” she admitted. “I think you have the potential to be better. But many people would want you dead, and I don’t like you enough to oppose them.”

“Then why?”

“Link loves you. If we executed you, he would be the one to suffer. No one wants to do that to the man who saved our city twice.”

Ganondorf’s jaw dropped, and no words came to his mouth.

Link had saved his life. Link called him family. Link, who befriended monsters and Hyruleans alike, who forgave and forgave and forgave. Perhaps one day Ganondorf would understand why.

“We’ve already picked your probation officer,” Zelda said. “Are you ready for him to show you to your quarters?”

He blinked, and returned to the present. “I don’t suppose you’d let me refuse.”

“Indeed I wouldn’t. Officer! The prisoner is ready to be discharged!”

It _was_ a good deal, he admitted. A more generous deal than he deserved. It would leave him in a lifetime of debt to the royal family, and dependent upon their protection, as Princess Zelda surely knew. And from the sound of things, _she_ was also to thank for his continued existence, along with—

The officer walked in, and Ganondorf’s thoughts went blank at the sight of Link wearing the sash of a Hyrulean knight.

“Hey, Dad,” he signed with a smile. “We’re going home.”


	24. Son

Morning dawned over the capital, bright and silent, and Ganondorf’s back ached like he’d been hit by a molduga.

The Library of Hyrule was vast, with more codexes and scrolls than from all his previous lives put together. He’d searched the oldest records they had, copies of texts about a thousand years old. Over the course of the last night, he’d gone through the entire section on Gerudo culture and history, then the Hylian histories, and now he sat at a table paging through the last dozen books, trying to ignore the soreness in his muscles. His assigned guard—that damned Rito, of course—leaned against the wall and checked his primary feathers.

None of the books described the brutal conquest from Ganondorf’s memories. War, yes—and it was the worst kind of relief to finally have proof for it. But virtually all the fighting was _outside_ the desert. The Hylians never came close to Fort Ular or the Gerudo heartland. Their oldest maps depicted the desert as a vast blank space, and their scrolls described it as unlivable, and warned repeatedly not to enter. The Hylian armies would have dropped dead from heat exhaustion, and only modern Zora and Gerudo cooling magic made military outreach possible.

But the modern maps crisscrossed the desert with roads, settlements and even farms, watered by underground channels from the snowy highlands. Farms built by Hylian engineering, Goron stonework and Zora agricultural magic, owned mostly by Gerudo.

He also searched the records for historical figures. He found himself, of course, albeit with his name misspelled again. He found Nabooru, Aveil, Meadela, and other famous leaders, described sometimes as enemies, sometimes as allies of Hyrule. There was no mention of a chief named Varuq.

That didn’t mean she never lived. A thousand years was plenty of time for her to be forgotten, even if the Hylians hadn’t deliberately erased her name. But her absence ached like an old scar over his heart.

He found his old tribe, but they weren’t the warriors he remembered. They’d been a small band of cattle-ranchers in the northeast, and Ular was abandoned long before. That explained why he hadn’t seen any skeletons.

More disturbingly, his tribe reappeared several times in the records, centuries _after_ his first attempt to conquer Hyrule failed. At the last mention, they moved to the Faronese grasslands during a famine, and intermarried with the local Hylians. But even if his people _had_ been slaughtered, it wouldn’t make Ganondorf’s continued attacks on civilians justified, centuries after the rest of the world moved on.

Faronese Hylians...perhaps Link was a blood relative after all, albeit an extremely distant one. If not, he was still family in every way that mattered.

If Ganondorf’s people had survived, why had he gone out into the desert wastes? What drove him to make a deal with that terrible shadow in the first place? For a thousand years, vengeance was the only reason he kept living, and now he didn’t even have that.

He set the scroll down, stretched, and walked through the stacks to a balcony outside. The architects had designed it as a Rito entrance, but it served equally well as a vantage point to observe the city.

Two weeks after Demise attacked, the capital still looked more like a war zone than a city. Most of the inhabitants were living in tents outside the walls. But reconstruction was proceeding apace—faster, even, thanks to the moblins, bokoblins, hinoxes, and other monsters who had joined in. The news of Zelda’s magical awakening had spread, and Calatia congratulated her as the next queen of Hyrule. Although, Sidon reported that the Calatian ambassador’s private remarks were _much_ more entertaining.

In the cinders of the Gorontown district, Ganondorf spotted a bokoblin ascending into the sky. Fork and Link circled the longhouse scaffolding before flying towards the library. At the sound of her heavy wing-beats, Revali snapped to attention.

“Who goes there—oh, not you again.”

She landed, sticking out her tongue, and leaned forward to let Link jump off. He smiled and waved, and a lock of his hair had been dyed Gerudo red.

Ganondorf stared at it, and Link’s smile broadened, though he scratched his hair self-consciously.

“Please tell me you got some sleep.”

Ganondorf composed himself. “I probably dozed off at some point.”

“ _Dad.”_

“I did find answers, however.”

He led them to the pile of books and scrolls on the table. Link flipped through them curiously. Fork yawned, slouching in the corner next to an irritated Revali.

“My tribe existed,” Ganondorf signed. “But not as I remembered them. There’s no record of Varuq.”

Link’s lips pressed together, and he bowed his head in acknowledgment.

Ganondorf drew a long, heavy breath, and prepared to sign the most difficult statement he ever had.

“It was physically impossible for Hylians to invade the desert during my youth. Everything I did, all the people I hurt, was for nothing.” He rubbed his forehead, feeling the start of a headache. “I am sorry for dragging you into this.”

As Ganondorf signed, Link’s brows drew close, and his fingers tightened around the edge of the table. His gaze fell to the floor, and for several agonizing seconds, neither of them moved.

Revali sneezed. Everyone startled, and Ganondorf shot him a glare. Link frowned down at the books.

“I don’t agree with what you did,” he signed, “and I don’t want you to ever do that again. But you’re still my Dad, and I love you.”

Ganondorf didn’t know what to say to that, but it didn’t matter when Link pulled him into a hug. Which was _not_ how Ganondorf had been expecting this conversation to proceed. Link had always managed to surprise him; he ought to be used to that by now. But he’d probably never get used to being a father.

At least hugs were easy to return.

“Also,” Link signed when they broke apart, “I’m keeping the surname.”

The scar over Ganondorf’s heart ached again, and he couldn’t tell if it was the Master Sword’s wound, Varuq, or his own guilty conscience.

He cleared his throat. “How go the negotiations?”

Link raised his eyebrows, but gave him a sympathetic smile.

“You know how Akkala’s mostly uninhabited?”

“What about it?”

“The monsters need a home,” he signed, “and the Hyruleans need help rebuilding their city. See where this is going?”

Ganondorf did a double-take. “You don’t mean...”

“Fork, Mipha and I will help translate between the monsters and construction crews. Zelda’s found a new settlement in Akkala the monsters can join after they’re done here. It’s called Tarrey Town.”

Ganondorf steadied himself on the table. “I’m surprised it went so smoothly.”

“Well...” Link rubbed the back of his neck. “Zelda’s busy, and most civilians who sign are too nervous to approach the monsters yet, so there’s only three of us. We could use another interpreter.”

He gave Ganondorf a meaningful look, and Ganondorf drew back.

He was an old man, and only had one life. Two decades, perhaps three. Not enough time to make up for everything he’d done. But it was enough time to see Link grow up, to create a place in the world for his former minions, and, perhaps, to do something good for once.

“I suppose I need an excuse to get out of the house more.”

Link lit up. “Great! I’ll introduce you to Daruk and we can start negotiations over breakfast.”

Daruk. The same Goron who’d invented the firearms that had slaughtered Ganondorf’s monsters a few months ago. There were bound to be hard feelings left over, which would need to be handled delicately.

Ganondorf shook his head, and picked up the books to return to the front desk.

“There’s this curry cart by the longhouses,” Link signed as they put away the records. “It has a bunch of meat options, so it’d be good for the monsters.”

Ganondorf shuddered. “As long as their curry isn’t made of rocks.”

“That’s rock-roast. They sell rocks too, though!”

Fork and Revali fell into step behind them, one grinning, the other vaguely annoyed. Link rambled on, about Goron cuisine, Zelda’s upcoming coronation, and Sidon teaching Sunshroom to play Four-Fly. It was a welcome distraction from the past.

No, he didn’t have all his answers, and he probably never would. He’d be under daily watch, and would spend the rest of his days repaying Hyrule for his crimes. But he had his life, his son, and a second chance.

“Link?”

Link paused midway through an explanation of card decks. “Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

Link grinned, and shrugged. “Anytime.”

They walked outside, together, into the morning light.

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings: Violence, minor character death, guns; allusions to war and child abuse. But there is a happy ending.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Comments and questions are welcome.


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